Gone
by Knackard
Summary: When tragedy rips the Cullen family apart only days after Nessie's birth, a whole new timeline is created. Will Jake survive the loss of his imprint? How will the littlest Cullen handle life far from a family she doesn't even remember? And what the hell is Demetri doing in this story? Alternate ending to BD. Read on for growing pains, vengeance, intrigue, and a whiff of sexiness.
1. Everything Is New

**Hello, my friends! Thank you for joining me this fine day. Note that much of the dialogue in this story is meant to take place in Italian or Greek. I don't know Italian or Greek. I could try to use a translation service as I have for other stories, but translation services do not effectively convey nuances of speech, and characterization would suffer. Instead, use your imagination.**

**One small warning: without giving too much away, characters in this story will experience a full range of uncomfortable situations, not excluding death. If this will bum you out, either PM me for more information or don't read it...or possibly read it with your eyes closed.**

**One small disclaimer: I didn't know how to categorize this because it contains a lot of everything. I did my best. Please don't hate me for my tags.**

**A special thankee-very-much to aboxofbears, twicharmed, jaspersdestiny and bellaflan for giving me feedback, pointers and beta-ing. You guys are splendid. I hope a leprechaun leaves you all a crap ton of leprechaun silver.**

* * *

Renesmee Carlie Cullen—soon to be known as Nessie—is only a few hours old and has spent most of her air-breathing life being held and sung to and cooed at by Aunt Rosie. She is warm, and she is loved, and she is happy.

Shortly after Aunt Rosie finishes a particularly pleasant ditty, Nessie sees a movement and looks up, and up, and up, into two obsidian eyes. Later, she will find out the eyes belong to Jake, and that Jake belongs to her; but for now she doesn't care who or what he is, she wants only to be near him. The moment Nessie sees him her heart begins pounding with eagerness to be passed into his arms, and that is when Aunt Rosie whips her head around, sees Jake and leaps to her feet. She moves so fluidly that Nessie barely even feels it, but she certainly hears the low snarl that issues from Aunt Rosie's lips, feels the way she is gripped closer to her aunt's chest.

"What do _you_ want?" Aunt Rosie says, although to Nessie it sounds more like "Wogga_yoo_womp?".

"She...she's beautiful," says Jake. Nessie recognizes his voice at once from when she lived in the warm wet place. She kicks her little feet in a jig that matches the halting cadence of his words. Aunt Rosie looks down at her incredulously. "What's she doing?" Jake asks anxiously. "Is she okay?"

Aunt Rosalie's eyes soften as she looked down at Nessie. "She's dancing," she says, a little smile playing around the corners of her lips.

"Let me hold her," says Jake.

"No!" says Aunt Rosalie, and the soft look vanishes from her eyes.

Jake looks first stricken, then determined. "Rosalie," he says, "Please."

"_Hell _ no," says Aunt Rosie. "If you come one step closer, I swear to god I'll kill you myself."

These gibberish sounds Aunt Rosie is making mean nothing to Nessie, but they must mean something to Jake, because (to Nessie's intense disappointment) he stays where he is, craning his neck to see Nessie over Aunt Rosie's protective shoulder. They maintain a peculiar sort of standoff for a long time, long enough for Nessie to get tired, yawn a mile-wide yawn, and close her eyes.

She wakes up a few hours later, when the light is all different. She is still in Aunt Rosie's arms, and Jake is still standing a few feet away, watching her anxiously. At this point a new person enters Nessie's line of sight, another pale one like Aunt Rosie, with browny-yellowy hair (she later learns he is her father).

Her father talks to Jake, and he sounds so furious that Nessie is momentarily afraid. Then he takes her from Aunt Rosie, and she shivers with anxiety at being held by the angry stranger. He looks at her in hurt surprise, and says, "Hey, hey, little one, it's okay." His voice becomes tender and soft, and Nessie's fear diminishes, but she is still thinking about Jake. She is worried, because whatever angry thing her father said to him, it made him take another step back, made his breathing go all patchy. Nessie is deep in thought about how much she wishes someone would hand her to Jake when her father stiffens in surprise, looks at Jake, looks at Nessie.

"What? What's wrong?" Jake says urgently, and his voice sounds strained and fearful. It sounds so terrible that Nessie begins to whimper, little mewling noises like a kitten. Her father tries a number of things to cheer her up, but nothing works. She wants _Jake_, and she is absolutely, one hundred percent positive that he wants her too. Why won't someone hand her to him? Are they all _blind?_

At last, slowly and unwillingly, her father walks over to Jake. With every step that brings Jake closer, Nessie's heart leaps in joy. Now he is close enough for her to see him properly, see his shiny black eyes and prominent nose and that warm skin that is so much darker than the others'. She tries to reach for him but her arms don't work as well as she would like, and she ends up flailing helplessly. Her father doesn't pass her to Jake, but he does let Jake reach out a tentative finger and touch Nessie's hand. The moment Nessie feels the slight pressure, she reflexively tightens her fingers around Jake's. Jake draws a sharp, awed breath, which is almost instantly cut off. Nessie is thinking about how wonderful it is to touch Jake after waiting so long—hours and _hours! _ She is also thinking about how pretty and shiny his dark eyes are, and how warm his skin, and how hungry she is.

Jake's head snaps up to look at her father. "She's hungry," he says in a startled voice.

"I know," says her father, looking puzzled, like he is trying to work something out. "How did _you _ know that?"

"She just told me," says Jake, looking back down at Nessie, a slow and sweet smile creeping across his face for the first time since she has seen him. "Through her hand."

Then Jake and her father start talking about something very fast while Aunt Rosie hurries off, reappearing soon with a round clear thing full of a delicious-smelling red fluid. On top of the round thing is a yucky-tasting wiggly thing which she fits into Nessie's mouth, and Nessie begins to pull hungrily on it. (Nessie later learns it's called a "bottle", and the yucky part that goes in her mouth is a "nipple". The red stuff is "blood". Nessie actually recognizes that word; she heard it all the time before she was born.) Soon the bottle is empty, and Nessie is sucking in nothing but air. She is handed back to Aunt Rosie to be patted on the back until she lets out a sonorous belch.

After that, they are back to standing around making noises at her. Sometimes Jake is allowed to touch Nessie's hand, sometimes not. Aunt Rosie holds her hands too, sighing every now and then. After a while, Nessie's eyes drift shut once more, and her thoughts dissolve into dreams about Jake and Aunt Rosie and her mother.

* * *

Jake is the first one to call her "Nessie," though the others aren't long in following. Nessie doesn't call him anything, because she can't talk. She doesn't really even think in words, although she can pick out her own name and the names of her family members, and that all-important word, "Hungry?"

On the second day of her life, Jake is finally allowed to hold Nessie—properly hold her, not just her hands. Her father cautiously passes her over into Jake's arms, which are several orders of magnitude larger than anyone else's, even Uncle Emmett's. Nessie nearly goes into paroxysms of joy and must spend several moments squirming about to express her feelings. Jake is laughing the whole time, in that low and rumbly laugh, and every now and then he will address a comment to Nessie's father. But mostly he is as caught up in the moment as she is. She burrows as close to him as she can, trying to absorb his delicious warmth through the pores of her skin. With her face pressed right up under his chin she inhales deeply, and he smells wonderful. Not like the pale ones, or like the blood she drinks from her bottle. There is something both fresher and wilder about him, something that delights her in a wholly different way.

Nessie isn't precisely thirsty, but she is longing to know what that blood tastes like, and so without fuss she slices her incisors through the skin just above his collarbone and sucks out a thin stream.

There is an instant outcry, and Nessie is snatched gently but firmly from Jake's arms, so fast that a few drops go flying to spatter on the white carpet. Jake's fingers go to his neck, and Nessie's father is saying something to him very urgently, but Jake brushes them all off with one massive hand and holds his arms out for Nessie once more. She reaches for him too, and after an uneasy moment she is handed back to him. She doesn't try to bite him again, not yet. But later, Nessie drifts off to sleep in Jake's arms, and wakes up with her face pressed right against the inside of his elbow. No one is looking at her now, and so she bites through the skin and gets at the blood once more.

This time, the outcry is delayed, and Nessie gets a big mouthful in before she hears people making a fuss. But Jake speaks to them all in a low, calm voice, explaining something. Although Nessie doesn't know the words she gets what he's saying: it's okay, she can bite him if she wants. Which she does, repeatedly.

It seems like Nessie's first three days are a whirlwind of new faces and smells and colors—oh, the colors! She meets her Aunt Alice, who has a grudging look in her eyes for half a second after seeing Nessie but is soon chortling and cooing at her like the rest. Nessie is never put down, not even once. She is passed from person to person, and they all laugh and gasp when they hold her hands. At first she has no idea why, but soon she begins to notice something: whenever someone touches her hands and she thinks of Jake, she is passed to him. The same thing goes for all the others, of course, but she thinks about Jake most often.

Then she begins to notice that if someone is touching her hands and she thinks of the metal bottle full of blood (they quickly abandon the glass one), it appears at once. Soon she is using her power more deliberately, reaching up with ever-more-steady hands to touch people's faces and ask them for what she wants. Usually what she wants is Jake or Aunt Rosie or food, but sometimes she asks for the wan-looking creature she saw when she was pulled from the womb. Whenever this happens, the mood in the room grows noticeably sadder, but she can't help asking anyway.

* * *

When Nessie does meet her mother for the first time, she looks almost unrecognizable, brown eyes replaced by bloody red, pink skin replaced by the firm, shimmery stuff her other family members sport. The first thing Nessie does when her mother holds her is reach a hand out, splay her five tiny fingers against the glittery white cheek, and remember her own birth. Her mother (like all the others did) gasps at the touch, but she soon grows used to it, conversing delightedly with her daughter in a language of touch and sound that they cobble together themselves.

The first night after Nessie meets her mother is spent in Grandmother's arms, cradled to where her heart would be beating if she had one that worked. The next morning Nessie wakes as soon as it is light to find that she is, as usual, the center of attention. She spends the day ping-ponging between Jake and her mother, listening to their voices, adding words to her ever-expanding mental vocabulary. She learns "tree" and "run" and "vampire". She hears "safe" repeatedly, but for the life of her can't put it in context. She learns "werewolf", and she knows it means Jake. She assumes a werewolf is just a person who has dark reddy-tan skin instead of sparkly white, and who has a heartbeat and yummy blood. Then her mother spends a long hour explaining to her in a sing-song voice about…well, _something_, and it sounds really good, whatever it is, although Nessie doesn't actually understand most of the words.

But she uses one word in particular, over and over again. It sounds like "oh-shen". After a while, Nessie touches her cheek and tries to repeat the sounds in her head. Her mother jerks in surprise, then breaks off in a peal of laughter that tickles up into Nessie's tummy. She says something to the others, and soon they are all gathered around her, talking excitedly. So Nessie does it again, more frustrated this time because no one has explained it to her yet in a way she can understand.

Her mother must hear the frustration, because she runs with Nessie out the door, all the others following close behind. This is not the first time Nessie has been carried in this way, and she loves the speed. They whip through the trees, the others weaving around them, the air ringing with chatter and laughter. Nessie is happy, because her mother keeps saying the words over and over again: "Ocean, see the ocean," and it seems like her question might be answered after all.

Before very long, they have broken through the forest and Nessie lets out a squeal of delighted surprise, because where there should be trees and grass and dirt and rocks, there is only…what _is _ that? It's sort of grayish-blue, and it undulates weirdly, and parts of it are shiny and glittery like the skin of the vampires in the midday sun. She claps her hands at hummingbird speed, points at the flat, shiny vastness, and touches her mother's cheek with a questioning thought.

"Ocean," her mother says, pointing to the wavery blue expanse. "Ocean."

Then Nessie smiles. So that's what that mystery _oh-shen _ thing is, a sort of thing that's like the ground but wobblier. Then her father takes Nessie in his arms and walks with her to the edge of the ocean, and Nessie is confused again: up close, it isn't grayish-blue at all, it's white-greeny-see-through and bubbly. Then he crouches and lets Nessie dabble her hands in it, and she lets out a shriek of laughter when she realizes what the ocean is made of.

_Wodder? _ she thinks, remembering the word her parents say when they give her her nightly bath. Her father nods and smiles with pleasure, and then calls back to the others, who cluster around them. They spend the afternoon splashing about in the water. Nessie can't actually stand up by herself yet, but she can sit up pretty well if someone steadies her back for her. So her father sits cross-legged in the waves and she sits in his lap, and splashes away at the cool, salty water.

Nessie is loath to go home after this, and puts up quite a fuss. But her mother says two words that make Nessie feel better: "Ocean," she says with a smile, and "tomorrow." Nessie is familiar with "tomorrow." It means after the sun goes down and comes back up. She can wait that long, she supposes, especially since she's so sleepy.

She passes out in her mother's arms as they sprint back to the house in the lowering light.

* * *

Nessie and her parents go to the ocean the next day, and Nessie learns that in addition to actual ocean, there are lots of things to do on what everyone calls the "beach". Nessie loves flinging sand around, until she gets some in her eyes and lets out an annoyed wail. She must blink furiously for ten or fifteen minutes to get every particle out, and she is more careful where she throws sand after that.

Jake shows Nessie how to dig deep into the sand to make a big hole (he does most of the digging while she is busy rubbing sand in his hair). Then he runs back and forth between the waves and the hole they've dug, carrying water in a bucket. In this way Jake and Nessie make a little pool that is just the right size for her to sit and splash in, without even having to sit on anyone's lap. Jake brings her all sorts of lovely things to play with: delicate, pink-ridged seashells; wads of translucent, slippery seaweed; some waterlogged seedpods; and a piece of something that smells like glass but feels different. It is an irregular green trapezoid the size of her hand, cool to the touch. Light filters through it, but not detail. It is all smooth around the edges, and it has a dull, even finish. Nessie plays with it, rubbing it against her palms and slipping it through her fingers over and over again, warming it to her body temperature. When they go back that night, she won't let her parents take it from her, but sleeps with it clutched in one small fist.

They can't go back to the ocean for a few days because of rain, and so Nessie does all sorts of indoors-things like clapping her hands together in time to her father's piano-playing, and having contests with Jake to see who can holler the loudest in the big echoing foyer. The whole time, she keeps her piece of sea-glass close by, either gripped in one hand or tucked securely into a little pocket on the front of her dress.

When the sun finally comes out again, her parents and Jake take her back to the ocean, where they have a surprise waiting: a boat.

Nessie is thrilled to learn that she can get right up on the ocean in this contraption. She sits in her mother's lap, held securely the whole time, and paddles her little hands in the water. Then Jake leaps over the side and into the water, sending up a prodigious splash and causing the boat to rock thrillingly. He rolls around like an otter through the waves, and Nessie shrieks and giggles, pointing out his silly antics to her mother. She reaches out her arms eagerly, hoping to join Jake in the water, but here her mother draws the line. Nessie remains firmly in the boat, but she doesn't mind. There will be plenty of time to play in the water later.

When they are finished with the boat, Nessie watches her father tie it up in a little cove. She reaches out for Jake to carry her back to the house, and falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, her plump diapered bottom sticking out and one thumb in her tiny mouth.

* * *

The next day, to Nessie's dismay, Jake must leave. She lets out distressed yells and flexes her fingers at the end of outstretched arms to let everyone know she wants him to _stay_, but he goes anyway. To cheer her up, her parents offer her all sorts of things to play with, but she will have none of it. Nessie touches her mother's arm and remembers their wonderful day on the boat yesterday, and her parents smile at each other. They dress Nessie up in a nice warm onesie, a woollen jacket with a bulky plastic vest on top, and they carry her back to the boat they tied up yesterday. Boating without Jake is second only to boating _with _ Jake, and Nessie is satisfied for the time being. They push off and float around happily, and then her father jumps out and frolics for Nessie's amusement for a while.

Just as Nessie is beginning to grow bored of her father's plays (which aren't as good as Jake's), something unexpected happens: he sinks beneath the water with an almighty thrash. This is more like it; Nessie claps her hands to show her approval. But her mother leans forward with a sudden dreadful tension in her muscles, and Nessie begins to suspect that something is not right.

In a moment, Nessie's father floats back up to the surface, and she is relieved for a moment. But her mother screams bloodcurdlingly, and stows Nessie in the bottom of the boat, though not before Nessie notices what elicited the scream: her father's head floated to the surface without his body. She didn't know he could take his head off like that. She doesn't much like it.

Then her mother dives over the side as well, and Nessie begins to feel frightened and abandoned. She isn't coordinated enough yet to stand or even sit on her own, but she can push and pull herself into a better position to see what's going on down there. She is going to have some indignant thoughts for her parents when they come back, that's for sure.

Eventually Nessie gets herself pulled upright, so that she can peer over the side of the boat into the water. There seems to be a struggle going on down there, unless it's just her parents doing more play-acting for her (although if they are, it isn't very funny). Then, faster than Nessie can properly follow with her eyes, her father's head shoots out of the water and smacks her clear in the face, throwing her off balance and pitching her into the ocean.

Nessie has taken many baths by this time, but never more than a few inches deep, and always in warm and clear water. This cold wetness absolutely terrifies her, because although she kicks her feet looking for the bottom she can't find it anywhere, and soon her head is submerged and her eyes are stinging and she is about as frightened as she's ever been in her life.

Nessie at least knows not to try to breathe underwater, and eventually her head breaks the surface and she bobs along for a while, panicking and alone. She is some distance from the boat now, and can see quite clearly that something is on fire. She sees her mother trying to keep her balance without touching the flames, and she sees that someone else is in the boat with her, a beautiful dark-skinned female Nessie has never seen before. Even at this distance she can tell the female is a red-eyed vampire like her mother. They are probably fighting, although Nessie hasn't seen many examples of fighting in her short life and can only guess. Nessie is too scared to make a single sound until the stranger digs a handful of flesh out of her mother's torso. Then she screams, the lusty scream of an infant in mortal terror. The stranger whips her head around toward the source of the sound, and in that moment Nessie's mother rips an arm off of the stranger and tosses it on the inferno. Thrown off balance, the stranger is unable to fend off Nessie's mother as she rips head from body, both of which splash backward into the ocean.

Nessie's mother is just about to dive out to Nessie when it happens. An errant spark leaps up and ignites the dripping, venomous wound in her mother's stomach, and she bursts into flames fifty feet from her daughter.


	2. On the Water

Demetri, foremost tracker for the Volturi, drops the corpse that was so recently a rather comely living woman. He licks a fleck of blood from his lips and looks up at Jane, who is leveling him with her most judgmental scarlet stare.

"Well?" he asks irritably. He is utterly loyal to the Volturi, but Jane annoys the hell out of him, the way she prances around like she owns all of Volterra. Right after a meal, when every nerve in his body is still flooded with the jittery pleasure of the feed, Jane is the last person he wants to see.

"Aro has requested to see you," she says in a prim voice, then turns on her heel and strides away. Demetri kicks the corpse aside, straightens his clothes, and darts down the hall toward Aro's reception court. Aro does not like to be kept waiting.

Demetri observes all the appropriate protocols as he enters the grand reception court, where Aro sits alone on a seat in the center of the dais. In his hand is a fragment of very heavy, fine paper covered in writing of a most elegant hand. Caius and Marcus are nowhere to be seen.

"Skilled Demetri!" says Aro in greeting. "I have an errand for you."

"Yes, lord?" responds Demetri, bowing low in the courtly manner Aro has favored of late. Aro's whims on court protocol change frequently, sometimes as often as once a decade, and Demetri finds it taxing to keep up; but of course, he would do _anything _ for Aro.

"Just this morning I've had a note from our esteemed friends and allies, the Cullens. It seems they've made an addition to their coven."

"The girl?" Demetri asks. "Bella Swan?"

"Indeed." Aro smiles widely. "I cannot begin to adequately express my pleasure at this news. They have cooperated so wholeheartedly with our wishes. For a time, I had feared that they…but no, let us not dwell on what it now seems were idle worries."

"How may I be of service?" Demetri asks. If the Cullens have been so obedient, he can't imagine what call there would be for his powers.

"I wish to keep a fatherly eye on them," says Aro with a deep nod. "I feel I bear some responsibility for their newest member; I ought to make myself available in the event that they find her newborn strength more than they can handle alone."

"That is just," agrees Demetri. "What am I to do?"

"Nothing much, Demetri. Please locate them. That is all. I wish to be certain that they are all together, that Miss Swan—dear me, I mean the new Mrs. Cullen, of course!—that Mrs. Cullen has not absconded, that her movements are controlled. In short, I would like you to help me monitor the well-being of their small but doughty coven from afar."

"Yes, lord," says Demetri. He steadies himself, takes a few deep breaths, closes his eyes. There is a web of psychic strands that drift along his consciousness, each one faint enough to ignore until he feels for it with his mind. The strand that represents Aro feels hard and thin, like a copper wire. Right now it is the most prominent strand in his mind. But Carlisle has a respectable presence as well, a rubbery-feeling strand that Demetri follows with his mind until it splits off into seven others—_wait_.

There used to be seven strands that branched out from Carlisle's psychic strand, one for each member of his coven and one weak one for the girl Bella. Now there are six, and they fray out into a confusing tangle that feels inexplicably wrong.

"Demetri," says Aro, with a note of impatience. Demetri's eyes snap open.

"Milord, there are…there are two missing from the coven. And there is more. Something feels…_off_."

"You mean that the newlyweds have left their coven?" says Aro, leaning forward with the faintest trace of an eager smile on his lips.

"No, milord. I mean that I can't find them anywhere." Demetri concentrates for a moment. "Edward and Bella. They're…they're _gone_."

Aro looks genteelly annoyed. "What do you mean, 'gone'? Gone where?"

"Milord," says Demetri, following Carlisle's strand once again to the tangle, "The rest of the coven is still in Washington state. They are all together. I could lead you to them in an instant. But Edward and Bella are simply…nowhere. If they are on this earth, I cannot see them."

Aro rests the tips of his fingers together to form a steeple. He narrows his eyes. "That is not what I like to hear, Demetri," he says in a low, dangerous voice. Demetri bows his head subordinately. "There had better be some explanation for this that does not implicate you, my child. I would not like to think that your considerable skills are deteriorating."

Demetri chances a look at his master. "Milord," he says humbly, "This has happened before, when the one I sought has died. I cannot track the dead, lord."

"How I hope you are wrong!" Aro declares unguently. "Edward and Bella Cullen, dead! What a tragedy that would be." Demetri nods in agreement. "You must discover what has happened, Demetri. You must go to Washington and find them. There is some mystery here. I do not like to be deceived." Demetri can't tell who Aro is angry at, the Cullens or him. Or both. But Aro does not touch Demetri to read his thoughts, so perhaps he is not in trouble yet.

"Who shall I take, lord?" he asks.

"Take?"

"With me. To Washington."

"Oh," sneers Aro, "I hardly think that will be necessary. I wish you to discover them, nothing more. Can you not track them alone? Have your abilities shrunk so much?"

"Milord, I meant only that—"

"You will go alone. You will make no contact with Carlisle or the others unless I order you to. You will be unnoticed by any and all who might recognize you. You will leave no grain of sand unturned. And you will not return without answers. Do I make myself plain?"

"Entirely, milord," says Demetri, bowing low.

"Now go, Demetri," says Aro in a kinder voice, leaning back in his thronelike chair and folding his hands in his lap. "And good fortune."

"Thank you, milord," says Demetri, and he departs.

* * *

Demetri loves Aro—or at least, he is entirely devoted to him. Demetri has little experience of what the poets call love, of any variety: platonic, fraternal, erotic. He has friends for whom he feels a deep and abiding affection. He has coven-mates to whom he feels familial loyalty. And over the past thousand years he has taken numberless sexual companions, nearly all of them beautiful women, although there were several hundred beautiful men in there as well. Demetri is nothing if not flexible.

Still, all of this notwithstanding, Demetri would rather die than fail Aro. He does not believe for a moment that his powers are faulty. Over the centuries he has shed all his doubts on that front. He will find the answers he seeks. He can't guarantee that Aro will like what he discovers, but that is Aro's business.

Demetri gives instructions to the low-ranking female vampire who functions as a Volturi secretary. She goes into a frenzy of activity, reserving a private plane and making other arrangements necessary for Demetri's journey. He goes to his quarters to prepare his things for travel.

Demetri is a favored member of the Volturi, and his living quarters are correspondingly splendid. He has a magnificent washroom, a grand, bedless room that contains his extensive personal effects and clothing, and a study in which he greets personal visitors, holds meetings with lower-ranking Volturi, and researches his missions.

There is little to be done now, however. Demetri takes a bath, rinsing the dust of Volterra from his glowing olive skin. He flosses his teeth, combs his gleaming black hair and ties it at the nape of his neck. He dresses in a pair of well-tailored dark jeans, a close-fitting gray t-shirt and a sleek leather jacket. These clothes will wear well on the journey and will not require upkeep.

He packs a water-proof, fire-proof, acid-proof bag with the essentials: a small fortune in both Italian and American currency, myriad identification cards and passports, some personal odds-and-ends, and his cell phone which will be used to communicate with the Volturi.

This all takes him no more than a half hour. Shortly after that, he is on his way to the small airport within the small city of Volterra, where he goes directly to one of the planes owned by the Volturi. In an hour or so he will be flown nonstop to the United States, where his passport will be accepted unquestioningly.

From there, he will proceed to Forks, Washington, and the real work will begin.

* * *

Nessie floats for a long, long, long time. Sometimes the waves get rough and she goes under the water again, but the pink plastic vest she is wearing can't stay under the water for very long, and she always bobs back up again. She is freezing cold, her fingers and toes completely numb. She tries sticking her fingers in her mouth to warm them, but the salty water on them makes her gag and choke and vomit out what little blood was left in her stomach.

The sun goes down, and then Nessie gets even colder. Her terror has morphed into something that is somehow worse. She feels like a serpent has wrapped icy tentacles around her and is slowly pulling her under the water and away from everything she knows. She thinks of Jake incessantly, longs with all her soul to see him swimming toward her. She also thinks of her parents, but she isn't sure what happened on that boat. She's seen fire before in the form of scented candles, but she's never been allowed to touch it, so she has no idea what happens if it gets on you. Does it stick to you like water? Will her parents come to find her with flames sprouting from them like wings? At least that would warm her up.

Somehow, Nessie gets through the night, and when the sun comes up she has absolutely no idea where she is. She seems to have drifted quite far, and she can't see land anywhere. She is starving and numb with cold and she wants her mother and she wants Jake. For the first time in her life, she cries real tears, hot salty water dripping down her face to vanish into the cold salty water all around her. She hates the ocean now. It is so vast and indifferent. She never wants to see it again.

She's so hungry.

She's so hungry.

She's so cold.

* * *

Nessie loses consciousness when the sun is only partway up, and whether it's from cold or because she's missed all her naps, she doesn't know. But she doesn't stay asleep for long, because she is too uncomfortable. She alternates between half-sleep and half-waking for a long time, long enough for the setting sun to shine in her eyes and blind her. She is facing straight into it, and it is terribly red, as red as the fire that swallowed up her mother.

She is beginning to drift back toward half-sleep when she is startled to feel something slam into the back of her skull. Whatever it is, it's hard and smooth and it hurts her head. Nessie wriggles as hard as she can, and manages to get herself turned around. The thing is the side of a boat, and if she looks up and up and up she can see that it is larger than the one she was on with her parents. She can hear a low throbbing sound in the water. She fills her chest up with air and begins to scream as loudly as her frozen lungs can manage.

There is a sudden activity on the boat, and two heads pop over the side to look down at her.

"What is that?" one of them says. Then, "Oh my god, it's a _baby!_" The heads disappear for a moment, and Nessie continues to scream, terrified that these people aren't going to help her at all. Then she feels a disturbance in the water and swallows a good deal of the wave that goes over her head. She chokes and her scream is cut off, but a second later she feels arms wrapping around her and lifting her from the sea.

She never thought she could be any colder than she was in that water, but she was wrong: there is a breeze that cuts through her soaked clothes and leeches out whatever warmth was left in her bones. She is white and blue and shivering all over.

There are agitated yells and frenzied movements all around her, and she finds herself being stripped down by warm, dry hands. The pink plastic jacket thing comes off, followed by her regular fluffy jacket, her dress, her cotton onesie, her sodden, full diaper. She only has a moment to shiver naked in the air before she is clutched to another naked torso—from the feel of it, a woman's, the same shape as Aunt Rosie but warm and soft and a good deal fluffier.

Compared to how cold she was, in fact, this woman's heat is burning hot, and Nessie cries out from the pain of her coldness meeting the sudden heat. A thick blanket goes around both her and the woman, and the crying gets louder although no tears come out. Her mouth is so dry and sticky that for the first time in her life she would be willing to drink plain water, if she could find some that didn't have ocean in it.

The woman's arms wrap around her, warm hands chafe her frigid sides and arms. There is more noise and more movement that sets the boat rocking. She is too tired and hungry to pay attention. The woman is making a soft, sympathetic _shh _ noise that has a lulling effect on Nessie's exhausted mind.

When the woman wraps her hands around Nessie's to warm them, Nessie very clearly pictures her metal bottle of blood, and then Jake. The woman lets out a little shriek.

"What happened?" asks a male voice.

"I don't know," say the woman uncertainly. She holds Nessie's hands again, more cautiously this time, and Nessie pictures Jake and her bottle again, with an emphatic command behind her thoughts. She hears the woman's heart speeding up, but no bottle is produced, no Jake appears like magic.

That's all right. There is a delectable heat and slurp and smell of blood pumping close to Nessie's mouth. This lady smells even better than the red liquid she drinks from her bottle.

She bites cleanly through the neck and laps up the hot blood that spurts forth, and it is coming out faster than she can drink it, way faster than it comes out of Jake. Perhaps that is because, with her jaw still stiff from cold, she didn't adequately control the bite and it is more like a gash. The blood warms her from the inside, and she can feel it expanding her collapsed belly. The female screams wetly and tries to let go of Nessie, then to push her away, but Nessie holds firm with hands that are beginning to have sensation again. The other two people begin shouting and hurrying around and tugging on Nessie's body, but she ignores them. The woman's blood pumps less hard, and she begins to slump forward onto Nessie. Soon the blood stops coming out at all, and the woman is utterly still, her heart silent.

Nessie wonders why the female is sleeping; when she drinks Jake's blood it doesn't put _him _ to sleep. But Nessie doesn't spare much energy for this thought. She was so hungry. She is still so hungry.

She wriggles out from under the woman and crawls toward the next human.

* * *

Demetri gives a wide berth to the Olympic Peninsula. He can feel the tendrils of Carlisle and his family, minus Edward and Bella. Demetri is positive now that the happy couple are quite thoroughly dead, because although he can sense where they _were _ a few days ago, now he can't feel their unique strands anywhere. But there is something that baffles him. There is a strand he has never felt before. It is faint, but it feels like it bears traces of Edward's strand and Bella's. Perhaps at the end of that strand he will find the answer to this bizarre mystery.

He follows the trail south.

* * *

The sky is dark, the stars are out, and Nessie is desperately confused. There were three people on this boat, and Nessie drank blood from them all, but their wounds haven't even started healing yet. This just serves as further proof of Jake's wonderfulness, because his wounds begin to knit together even as the blood is still flowing.

And not one of them laughed and cuddled Nessie as she suckled. They all screamed, and if she weren't so hungry she would have been a little annoyed. But they all stopped screaming eventually. They went to sleep right away, and their hearts went silent, and their bodies began to cool. Already Nessie is missing their body heat, but she worms her way into the thick blanket that was around her and the first woman, and then burrows under a thin shiny silver one that warms her up immensely. She is not disturbed by the silence or the lack of body heat and heartbeats, because her whole family is just like that. But she is lonely. She hopes the people wake up soon so she can show them how much she wants Jake.

She drifts in and out of consciousness, but the rocking of the boat and the growing warmth of her little nest soon lull her into a deeper sleep, the first true sleep she's had in two days. She dreams of Jake, and she dreams of her parents. She tosses and turns restlessly when the image of her mother blazing with fire enters her dreams, but she is too deeply asleep to wake even for a nightmare.

Nessie wakes with the sun. She still feels sort of stiff, but she is at least warm. She is hungry again, but it is regular hunger, not that gnawing, implacable pain she felt before she drank the blood from those three people. She works herself into a mostly-upright position propped against the curvature of the boat. The people are still asleep. This bothers her, because they aren't acting at all like her family. Her family never sleeps, and they smell markedly different. These humans are beginning to reek. Nessie kicks her legs until she is as far from them as she can go, and settles in to wait for Jake or her parents to come find her. Now that her tummy is less empty and cramped, she is feeling confident that her troubles will soon be over.

And so it is no surprise when, a few hours later, she sees a glittering olive-toned hand suddenly curl its fingers around the side of the boat, followed by a second hand and then a pair of keen burgundy eyes.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, friends!**


	3. The Naming

Demetri is a thousand years old, and he has seen many things in those years, many things to shock and thrill and delight and alarm.

But he can say with absolute certainty that he has never been as shocked as he is now, staring flabbergasted into the sweetest brown eyes he's ever seen. The eyes belong to an infant who is gazing at him with comfortable imperturbability. The infant is swathed in blankets, and it is as beautiful as an immortal child—of which Demetri has seen plenty.

_No_, he thinks as the sun leaps from behind a cloud and strikes the baby more fully. This infant is a thousand times lovelier than even the loveliest immortal child. Demetri has a love of beauty, bred in him over the long centuries. And even with his vast experience of beauty, he is awed by this angelic creature who blinks so calmly at him.

The infant smells wonderful, but nothing at all like a human—or a vampire, come to that. It smells somewhere in between the two, with the attractions of both and none of the faults of either. Its flesh is more brilliant than a human's, but gentler than a vampire's, mellow and translucent and glowing in the noonday sun.

Demetri is caught up with staring at the infant for at least a minute before he even notices what else is in the boat: three human corpses, dead about twenty hours and beginning to grow rank as they warm in the sun. They are drained of blood, or nearly so. He looks back at the child, who begins to look impatient. It lets out a tentative squawk that is somehow demanding and musical at once. Demetri suppresses an impulse to jump at the sound. There is something basically _real _ about the sound that pulls him out of his reverie: this is a solid, actual baby, and it wants something _right now_.

Demetri bunches up, rockets out of the water and vaults easily over the side of the boat without even disturbing its rhythmic rocking. The infant looks satisfied. Demetri approaches it cautiously, feeling about in his brain for the tendrils that he was tracking, the tendrils that felt like Edward and Bella. As soon as he locked eyes on the infant, the strands he was following solidified, the Edward-and-Bella-ness fading under the sudden glare that is this child's pure, personal aura. He reaches out with his mind and tests the strand of this infant. It is an unusually satisfying one, bright yet flexible and strong like a knitted silken rope, not wiry like Aro's or floppy and limp like Carlisle's.

The tendrils that he uses to track his quarry do not really tell him much about them, but he is immediately taken with the psychic imprint of this baby. That is what really decides him. He crouches in front of the baby, his head still swimming with its beauty. It reaches one tiny hand out of the blanket and holds it out expectantly. In a trance, Demetri extends one long tan finger that is still drying from his swim in the ocean. The baby's fingers grip his with astonishing strength, and Demetri experiences the second greatest shock of his ancient life. The instant the child's skin touches his, superimposed on his normal sense of sight is a vision of a stainless steel bottle in the hands of a golden-skinned, black-haired youth. This vision is perfectly-formed and vivid. There is a bead of viscous red at the nipple of the bottle. He can practically smell the rusty sweetness.

Demetri has always been quick on the uptake, and he immediately grasps the meaning of this.

"You're hungry?" he asks the infant. His words come out thick from recent disuse, and he tries again, softening his voice and pitching it a tone higher. "Do you want some blood?"

On the word "blood" the infant's eyes light up, and it breaks into a sunlit smile, revealing a row of perfectly even white teeth. Smiling, it is even more perfect than before, and Demetri feels his own face loosening into a smile in return.

"No blood here," he says apologetically, and his heart wrenches at the expression of disappointment that crosses the infant's face. "But we'll go get some!" he adds quickly, miming drinking from a bottle. The baby smiles again in satisfaction. Demetri turns his attention to the boat. They are some miles from land, but this boat has a motor and they will be among humans soon. Watched impassively by the infant, he tosses the dead lightly overboard. Then he cranks the motor, makes a few adjustments to the rudder, and directs the boat to the southeast.

* * *

Jacob Black is frantic. He hasn't slept since Edward and Bella failed to return to the mansion with Nessie, and that was almost two days ago. Since her birth he has never gone two days without seeing Nessie, and there is an agonizing tug demanding that he see her right now, this very minute.

But even that powerful tug is buried under the avalanche of his fear for her. For the first hour he was merely worried and distracted, but by the second hour he was unable to sit still. The Cullens felt the same way, and soon they were running _en masse _ toward the shallow bay where they'd boated before. Alice was unusually subdued, only speaking to fret that she couldn't see past Nessie into the future.

Emmett was the first to spot the smoking wreckage of the little boat, which had drifted some distance away. Within moments of his shout, Rosalie and Jasper were towing the wreck back to land and Jake was hyperventilating on his hands and knees while Alice paced behind him, wringing her hands and struggling futilely to see into the future. As soon as they were close enough for their feet to graze sand, Jacob sprinted to them and began sifting through the powdery ash and cinders that filled the blackened, waterlogged shell. Most of it was distinctly recognizable as vampire ash. Some of it was wood char from the boat's benches and part of the plank hull. Jake sifted flake by flake through the smoking ash. He wouldn't let the others help.

He found nothing that resembled a burned bone, no residue from fatty tissues, no orange stains of blood, no melted child-sized life preserver. When he had finished, the others looked, their shoulders heaving with dry sobs. At least two vampires had burned here. If Nessie died with them, there was nothing left to show it.

And now Jake is sprinting down the western seaboard, nostrils flaring spastically. His nerves are strung tight as a piano wire. He has never believed in any form of god, but he is praying to every deity he has ever heard of to keep Nessie safe, to bring her back to him in one piece or, failing that, simply keep her alive. His wolves and Sam's are fanned out in a vast semi-circle, combing the beaches and the woods for any trace of Nessie. Despite a lack of empirical proof, nobody believes that either Edward or Bella is alive; but the grieving for them has been put on hold in order to better focus on the more pressing crisis.

The Cullens are all sea-borne, one to a speedboat, forming the other half of the miles-wide circle of the search party. Up north, the Denali clan has been informed of the situation. The Denalis didn't even know that there was a child, and they are understandably freaked; apparently they've had some bad experiences with vampire babies before. But they agree to look, and they promise that if they find her they will inform the Cullens before informing anyone else.

No one has found anything yet, and Jake can hear in his wolves' thoughts that they are starting to lose hope. From time to time he mentally growls at them not even to think things like that, but sooner or later they resume leaking despair into his mind. He stops yelling at them to shut up. He is too despairing himself to muster up the energy.

* * *

Demetri has little experience of babies, although one cannot help picking up a few things after a thousand years on earth. He drank a baby once, by accident, but there is not the slightest danger of him drinking this infant's blood. In fact, if anyone ever threatened her, Demetri would lose no time in destroying the threat as thoroughly as possible.

They strike land after only a few hours' steady journey, during which interim he has little to do other than tweak their steering and jury-rig a diaper for her out of a clean dry shirt from his pack. She makes a fuss about a piece of green sea-glass that is buried in her wadded-up baby clothes until he liberates it and presses it into her hand. By the time they touch ground, the sun is already lowering in the sky and the angle of the light poses no danger of exposing Demetri's sparkle. His first action is to comb the dark streets of Astoria for a loiterer to feed to the baby. He is reluctant to give her a homeless guy; she deserves better, she deserves someone young and clean and fresh. But she has been pressing her hand to his face every twenty minutes for three hours now, each time showing him the same image of the russet-skinned young man and the metal bottle of blood. Right now she is famished. He will find her someone better tomorrow.

Demetri has learned over time to subdue his own thirst in the presence of spilled blood, although it is uncomfortable. But he has no desire whatever to interfere with the baby's meal. He would no sooner deprive her of a single drop of blood than he would drink from the veins of a rat. There is a burning thirst that erupts in his throat as he meticulously licks venom around the neck of their victim to disinfect it, but it is almost laughably easy to ignore. When he offers the man's throat to the baby, she sinks her pearly teeth into his carotid with practiced ease. She makes drinking blood look like a choreographed dance. His admiration for her grows with every slurp.

She detaches from her meal only after its jerky movements have subsided. She smiles beatifically up at Demetri, then lets out a rippling belch and giggles. Demetri pulls a snowy-white, monogrammed linen handkerchief from his pocket and gently blots the blood from her dimpled cheeks. He tries to think what to do next.

He will have to call Aro soon, he realizes. But first he must make sure that the child's immediate needs are seen to, and that no one is following them. It is easy enough for him to reach out in his mind after the strands of the Olympic Coven, who are obviously the child's nearest relations. They are fanned out and moving fast, but they do not yet pose a threat. They are still searching the ocean.

He quickly feels about in his mind for the strands of vampires nearby, to see if anyone else is moving in search-party formation. He senses that the Denali clan is unusually restless, but they are far away in the north and moving too slowly to be a risk. He can't get complacent, though; there could be others who are looking for the child, perhaps allies of the Cullens of whom he is unaware. He should take care not to stay too long in one place.

After the child has eaten, her shirt-diaper releases an impressive stink and he lacks the resources to make her a fresh one. So he cradles her in his arms and heads out in search of a store where baby supplies may be purchased. As he lopes along, she keeps one hand curled around her fragment of glass, the other around his forefinger. She transmits a fairly steady stream of images, mostly revolving around the brown-skinned boy and what is unmistakably a newborn version of Bella Swan. She also expresses her displeasure at the diaper situation with a series of high-pitched squawks, but soon drifts off to sleep. Demetri is transfixed by the fluttering, abstract images of her dreams.

He finds a supermarket on an out-of-the-way street and makes a speedy round of the shelves. He is conspicuous in his wrinkled clothes and salt-crusted leather jacket, and the baby is even more so, swaddled in what is obviously a grown man's t-shirt. But no one gives them any trouble. The checkout girl boggles at Demetri's tall handsome form without really looking into his face. She coos and exclaims over the infant.

"Oooh, what a beautiful baby!" she squeals in a sing-song voice. "Yes you _are _ a sweetheart, aren't you? Yes you are!"

Demetri forces himself not to roll his eyes only because he doesn't want to do anything to draw attention to their inhuman color. If he were alone he would have no compunctions about luring the cashier out back and disposing of her, should it become necessary. But now that he has this angelic girl-child in his care all is changed and he will take no risks. So he keeps his eyes downcast, deftly balancing the infant in one arm. With the other he sorts out cash to pay for the package of onesies, the bag of diapers, the travel pack of baby wipes, and the warm footed sleeping bag.

"What's her name?" the girl asks. Demetri pulls up short. He has no idea what the girl's name is; how would he? But he has been subconsciously mulling it over for the past few hours, and the answer comes to him after an interval a human would never notice.

"Nereid," he says in his smooth tenor. The girl stares at his chin, not meeting his eyes. Smart girl.

"Merry-what?" she asks.

"_Neer_-ee-id," he says again. "That's her name." He grabs his purchases and leaves the store. He can faintly feel the psychic strand of the checkout girl falling away behind him and allows it to drop from his immediate consciousness. She doesn't matter. No one matters now but the baby girl.

_Nereid_.

* * *

**Thank you for your reviews, my dears!**


	4. Order

**Thank you all for your comments (especially you, Guest; sadly I can't respond to comments unless the commenter is logged in, but I like the way you think). I find it hilarious that I got WAY more passionate responses to her name than to my perfunctory killing-off of Edward and Bella. Priorities, people!**

* * *

Nessie doesn't recognize the olive-skinned, dark-haired man who is taking care of her, but she isn't particularly worried. So far he has been adequately prompt about producing food and cleaning up the runny, brick-colored messes in her diapers. He seems to be having a bit more trouble with the concept of _Jake_, but hopefully he will figure that out soon. Then he will bring her back home, and maybe she and Jake can play with him and he can live there with her family. That would be nice. He's good at playing various rhythm-based clapping games, even better than her father.

He takes her to a big building full of shelves of things, where a yummy-smelling lady smiles at her. Then he takes her to another building, into an echoing room that smells of human waste and bleach, where he changes her into a clean diaper. He zips her into a nice warm fuzzy outfit that has a hood with puppy ears on it. He holds her up to a mirror to see what she looks like, and she laughs to see herself with furry ears like a doggie. When she laughs, he laughs too, and sweeps her into a tight hug, whispering something nice-sounding that involves that mystery word, "safe".

After this he runs with her to a big huge garage just like the one her family has at the glass house, although it's a lot dirtier. He gives some smelly green papers to a man, who gives him keys in exchange. Then he walks out to a nice shiny car and Nessie becomes very excited. She has always wanted to sit in a car but her father would never let her. Is this her chance?

The olive-skinned man makes a nest out of soft things in the front seat and plants Nessie right in the middle of it, strapping a fabric belt over her and pulling it snug. Then he climbs into the other seat, the car begins to make vibrating low noises, and everything starts to move. Nessie watches the world floating past her window until the vibrating movement sends her to sleep.

She doesn't wake until the car stops moving. She and the stranger are in a parking lot in front of a big building that looks just like the one where he got all the diapers. He is talking on his cell phone to someone whose name sounds like "Sin-_yor_ay," and he sounds more tense than she's heard him yet. When he hears her moving, he turns to her and smiles, offers her his finger to grab hold of. She takes it and pictures her parents again, and Jake. This is getting ridiculous. Why on earth isn't he taking her to them? Is he lost? He obviously knows who her parents are, because he keeps saying their names to the voice inside the phone. Maybe he's asking the voice for directions.

That must be it.

After a few more minutes, he ends the phone call. He takes a deep breath and bows his head onto his chest. Then he turns to her and says, "Okay, Nereid, let's get you a car seat." He says the word _Nereid _ several times, always when he's looking right at her. Maybe he can't pronounce _Nessie _ and _Nereid _ is the best he can do. He does seem to think it's her name.

He brings her into the big building and gets some more things, like an assortment of Nessie-sized clothes, a few plastic shower curtains, a pack of plastic bottles, a plastic box with a lid, and a big contraption that he attaches to a seat of the car. He straps Nessie into this thing and then drives for a couple of hours, until they reach another low building that smells kind of weird. He bundles all of the boxes and things in one arm, and Nessie in the other, and then unlocks a dirty door in a row of dirty doors and goes inside. There are two beds in this room, stinky smells coming from the carpets and drapes, a TV that emits a low static throb. The man makes a nest of pillows for Nessie, then goes around the room looking at things.

Nessie lets out a squawk to let him know she wouldn't say no to a bite to eat, and he flips through a book on the table until he reaches a page covered with pictures of naked ladies. Then he makes a call on his cell phone—the voice coming through it this time is different, obviously a woman's. After that he plays clapping and bubbles and tickle-tummy with her for a while, until there is a knock on the door.

The man puts a finger to his lips and winks at Nessie. She scrunches up her nose and tries to wink back, although it comes out as more of a crinkled-up blink. Then he goes to open the door.

There is a lady standing there in the yellow light from the overhead lamp. She strides confidently into the room, looking around. She looks startled to see Nessie there, though of course her face softens into a smile almost at once.

"I'm not doing it in front of a baby," she says, stepping toward the bed and holding out her hand to caress Nessie's plump pink cheek. "It's not right."

"We won't, I promise," the man says reassuringly, standing close behind the woman and sliding his hand onto her hip. She is wearing a very short dress that smells of chemicals and plastic, but underneath that Nessie can smell her scrumptious blood.

"Can I hold her?" the woman asks reverently. The man nods. The woman bends over and picks up Nessie, holds her against her chest. Nessie looks over at the man, who smiles broadly.

"Blood," he says to Nessie.

"Huh?" asks the woman. "Did you say something?"

"I said _blood_," he repeats helpfully. The woman looks confused, but Nessie isn't confused at all. She leans forward and slices the woman's neck open, welcoming the gush of warm blood into her mouth. The woman starts to gasp, but the olive-skinned man presses his hand against her mouth before the sound can escape. She struggles and tries to push Nessie away, but the man pins her arms to her side and holds her still. Nessie drinks as much as she can hold, and when she detaches from the woman's neck, the man presses his other hand against the wound to stop the blood from flowing. The woman isn't struggling nearly as hard now as he carries her effortlessly into the bathroom.

Nessie watches in the bathroom mirror as he holds the woman upside-down over a plastic bucket he got along with the other things. The blood makes a wet slapping noise as it hits the bucket. Quite a lot comes out, because Nessie wasn't nearly hungry enough to finish off a whole person. When the stream has slowed to a steady drip-drip, the man lays the woman in the tub. He brings the brimming bucket back into the main room. When he sees that Nessie is watching his actions with interest, he grins and waves at her. She grins and waves right back, flexing and curling her five fingers like a flower opening in the sun.

He pours the blood into the bottles he bought, screws on the caps and stows them all in the fridge. He cleans off everything that has leftover blood on it, including the woman, then wraps her up in one of the plastic shower curtains he bought. Quick as a flash, he carries her out to the car and folds her into the trunk. He is back before Nessie has even had a chance to yawn.

The man goes somewhere outside and comes back with ice, which he uses to fill up the plastic lidded box. Into this he puts the bottles of blood, and he loads the whole thing into the car.

At last he gives Nessie's diaper a final change and buckles her into the car seat. He spends a few moments stroking her hair and humming something soft and low, and before long she is asleep and dreaming.

* * *

Demetri takes every possible precaution when leaving the motel. He reflects drily that a tiny human baby requires considerably more preparation than a full-grown vampire, but he doesn't mind. He just wants to be sure she's safe.

They will meet Aro at a designated time and place or risk his displeasure, but Demetri isn't worried. With the blood he saved from the whore and the supplies he's bought for Nereid, the essentials should be covered. All they have to do is stay inconspicuous and get to Lake Sakakawea in Minnesota by the following dawn, where Demetri will easily find Aro. It would be a two-day's drive for a human, but for Demetri it will be no trouble at all. The Cullens are far away and moving in the wrong direction. Demetri is as good at covering his own tracks as he is at tracking others.

Over the next day, the hardest part is keeping Nereid busy. She sleeps for the first leg of the journey, but when he stops to gas up the rental car she wakes up, and she makes sure he knows that she is hungry and bored. He can solve the first problem easily enough, but he has no idea how to entertain a baby who's been stuck in a car all day. Does she want toys? Music? Games?

It's clear that she wants her parents, not to mention whoever the black-haired youth is. From her jumbled mental communications Demetri picks up some clues about what will most amuse her. After she wakes up, he spends much of his driving-time singing and humming songs he hasn't heard or thought of since he was a boy growing up in Crete. Nereid seems to prefer the more interactive ones with lots of punctuation for her to clap along with. Every hour or so he pulls off into a field, unbuckles Nereid, and runs around with her. She screams and waves her hands and kicks her little legs, and seems to enjoy these rest-stops immensely.

Demetri drives through the night and reaches Lake Sakakawea a few hours before dawn. He stretches out in his mind for Aro's particular strand, and easily tracks him across the lake to Deepwater Creek Bay. Demetri knows right away that Aro has brought along Renata, Marcus and Felix. He spares a moment to be relieved that Caius will not be present: although of course Demetri has the greatest respect for Caius's many years of experience and exalted position within the coven, he is reluctant to expose little Nereid to the ancient's harsh nature.

Demetri cleans Nereid up one last time before they join his coven-mates. He brings her into a gas-station bathroom, changes her diaper, wipes her face and hands clean, and smoothes out the fine golden-brown curls that are filling in rapidly. He dresses her in a fresh onesie and buttons her little coat all the way up to her chin, settles a soft knitted cap on her curls. He feeds her one last bottle and plays peek-a-boo and tickle-tummy to get her in a good mood, and then he brings her to the clearing where he knows Aro is waiting.

Not only have the Cullens and their allies failed to discover Nessie, they haven't even discovered a hint of her scent. The most obvious reason for this—that she is lost at sea, or worse—is not one which Jake is willing to voice, although he thinks about it constantly. He can barely function. He is paralyzed by fear and misery. He can no longer make decisions, not even about simple things, because every cell in his body is being pulled apart by his longing for Nessie.

Sam recognizes this at once and takes over both packs, for which Jake would be grateful if he were capable of feeling anything but desperation for his imprint. After three days there has been no sign of her, and so Jake, Sam, the betas and the Cullens reconvene.

Right now, Jake doesn't like what he is hearing.

"They have a tracker," Carlisle is saying. "The best in the world. His name is Demetri and I know him well. I have a great deal of admiration for him, both personally and professionally."

"We do not go to those monsters!" Jake growls. "Bella told me all about them. We don't get them involved."

"Jacob," says Carlisle urgently, looking into Jake's eyes with ochre ones that are brimming with compassion. "I fully understand your reluctance. The Volturi have been ruthless at times, and their ways are not our ways. But they have always treated me with courtesy."

"After what they did in Italy—" Jake tries again.

"That has always been their policy," says Carlisle. "They have always valued the security of vampires far above human life. I find their dietary ways abhorrent, but they are not the villains, certainly not compared to many of our kind. And they have skills we could use."

"There would be a price," Jake insists. "You know there would." So far no one else has even offered an opinion. Heads are swiveling back and forth between Jacob and Carlisle like at a tennis match. Carlisle nods his head in sorrowful concession.

"You are very likely right," he says. "I wish it were not so. But would you not pay any price to secure Nessie's safety?"

Against such an argument Jake is helpless. He hangs his head.

"Tell us more about this tracker," says Sam. "What's he like?"

"Demetri is an honorable man," says Carlisle. "He is an ancient, far older than me, and he has learned enormous self-control in his long years. His skills are unsurpassed: all he would have to do is stand in the presence of one of us and within moments he would be able to start leading us to Nessie's exact location. In my days living with the Volturi, he was among my most esteemed colleagues. He is civil, reasonable, good-natured, and he has a personal aversion to conflict." The wolves look mutinous at hearing such a description of a known human-drinker, but they do not voice their objections. "I have every confidence that, should Demetri lend us his services, he would be of inestimable help to us. If Nessie is to be found, Demetri will find her. He could be the one who brings her back to us."

"They won't just happily accept the werewolves," protests Sam. "We can't expose the tribe or our powers to—"

"We'll ask them," Jacob cuts in, his voice hoarse and broken. He avoids Sam's gaze, which he knows will be both pitying and accusatory. What does that matter? Sam doesn't have to talk to them if he doesn't want to. "What do we have to do?"


	5. Tipping Point

Nereid is clinging to Demetri, frantically transmitting images of the dark boy to him. She hasn't cried, but it is obvious from the set of her face and the tension in her tiny body that she is in considerable distress. Aro has not attempted to approach her yet, for which Demetri is grateful. Nereid has enough on her plate already.

"An enchanting child," breathes Aro for the third time, in his formal Italian. "She is flawless. Skilled Demetri, I commend you for your efforts. What a prize you have brought us." Demetri glows with pride.

"Your affection for the child is already quite pronounced," says Marcus calmly. "She seems to have a growing attachment to you as well, although she is understandably wary of us." The unmoving reserve of his voice interacts strangely with his handsome young features, although the same could be said of Demetri, and of every ancient vampire who was turned in the bloom of youth.

"I am most intrigued by her power," says Aro. "It is precisely opposite Edward's skill. I have never heard of even a full vampire possessing such a skill. Demetri, pray tell, what does she show you now?" Although Demetri has described Nereid's skill in detail, Aro has not yet experienced it firsthand, in deference to the child's anxiety. All present know that if he wished, Aro could simply force Demetri to hand over the infant, but he has no reason to be hasty. Demetri will be totally truthful and fully forthcoming with his information, and Aro can well be patient until the little one is less alarmed by him.

"She has been sending me the same images since I found her," answers Demetri, "with increasing urgency and frequency. She shows me Edward and Bella Cullen, and she shows me a young man I do not recognize. He is extremely tall and muscular—more so even than you, Felix." Felix looks surprised; he has never met anyone who could match him in physical presence, much less exceed him.

"Unbelievable though the idea may be," says Aro, "It can only be assumed that Edward and Bella are her parents. I will look into it further. I had never even guessed that such a thing could happen, but this seems to be a morning for surprises."

Nereid splays her fingers against Demetri's cheek and replays Aro's pronunciation of her parents' names, looking at him questioningly.

"She wants to know what you are saying about her parents," says Demetri in answer to Aro's expectant silence. "She recognizes their names."

"But of course," says Aro. "She must be overwhelmed. So many new faces! Yet she seems remarkably composed, given what has happened to her in the last few days alone. You say that she carries out the normal processes of a human body, but that she drinks blood like a vampire. She has the robust limbs and organs of our kind, yet she grows and changes at an astonishing rate. Demetri, I will confess that I can subdue my curiosity no longer. Will you give me your thoughts? You need not put the child down."

Demetri extends one arm to Aro, who takes his hand caressingly. Demetri feels every thought and experience since his departure from Volterra flashing through his mind. Aro reacts to none of it, but Demetri finds the process stimulating. Reviewing his memories in fast-forward allows him to grasp how very quickly Nereid has been growing, not only her hair and size but her proportions. She is longer and narrower than when he first plucked her from the sea. She _looks _ older.

"How very singular," says Aro. "I begin to understand your attachment to the child. Do you suppose she would submit to being touched?" Demetri does not relish the look on Aro's face, but of course he does not announce this fact. Instead, he props Nereid up, gives her an encouraging smile, and pantomimes touching Aro's hand. She holds her hand to his cheek and shows him an image of herself touching Aro; he recognizes the question behind the image.

He nods and smiles reassuringly. "That's right," he says in English. "Go ahead."

She shows him the image again, emphasizing that Demetri continues to hold her the whole time. He nods again, gives her an extra-tight squeeze.

Nervously, Nereid holds out her hand to Aro.

This time, Aro's eyes widen at what he is seeing, which from him is quite a theatrical response. After a moment, he drops Nereid's hand and steps back. Demetri feels her body relax slightly.

"Tell me, Demetri," he says, "How did you happen upon the name _Nereid?_"

"It seemed fitting," says Demetri, "considering where I discovered her. Do her memories include her original name?"

"They do," says Aro. Demetri waits, but Aro does not share the information. "For the present, we will continue to call her 'Nereid'. It suits her."

At this moment there is a buzzing in the pocket of Felix's suit. He accepts the phone call and holds a high-speed conversation. Then he offers the phone to Aro, who vanishes over the horizon with it, Renata in tow. Nereid relaxes much more with Aro gone.

After a second or two Felix steps toward Demetri and Nereid. "She's a real charmer, isn't she?" he says. He holds up one massive hand and waggles his fingers against her tummy. Nereid giggles, and the sound has an immediate effect on Felix. He breaks out into a surprised smile. "You like that?" he says, tickling her tummy some more. "I'm gonna get you!" Nereid shrieks playfully and waves her arms around. "Yes I am!" Felix says, "I'm gonna get you!"

Aro appears behind Felix, and Nereid's laughter is cut off instantly. Felix steps back respectfully.

"I have just spoken to Carlisle," he says. "He and his coven are in an uproar."

Demetri freezes, his mind spinning into overdrive. He feels around in his mind for Carlisle's location and is relieved to find that the whole Olympic coven has returned to their home. But that will be of little comfort if Aro orders him to return Nereid. Because of course, he would not be allowed to visit. Aro does not allow fraternization.

Demetri has been alive for a long, long time. His role in the Volturi is well-defined and understood. His friendships and his rivalries are ancient; there is nothing new to learn about anyone he knows. He doesn't even have a mate: in ten centuries on Earth he has never been in love.

Until two days ago, he never questioned this existence. He was content to simply be, to fulfill his purpose in Volterra, to use his skills in service to his masters. His life was defined by long meaningless stretches of time punctuated by feeding and tracking missions. The most he had to look forward to was that once every century or two he would find someone whose blood sang to him.

And now, he is absolutely certain that he can never go back to that life. He will do as Aro asks, even if it tears Nereid from him. But if that happens, he knows that it will be only a matter of time before his life is ended. He will make a mistake tracking, perhaps, and Aro will have him executed. Or he will be sent to execute someone on Aro's orders and will simply allow himself to be defeated by his desperate quarry. Perhaps he will even off himself directly. It won't matter: without Nereid, all will be emptiness, forever. His whole existence is now wrapped around her little finger. Now that he has met her, he can't live without her.

Demetri is aware that he must be broadcasting some of this on his face, but he doesn't care. Why shouldn't his master know how he feels? Undoubtedly Marcus senses all this anyway. It can't be hidden.

"Apparently," says Aro drily, "the Cullens have misplaced a child." Felix lets out a low chuckle.

"They must be very distressed," says Marcus in his monotone. "But what is that to do with us? We will return the child at once. How fortuitous that we have found her, instead of someone who might wish her harm. In returning her to her family, we will strengthen the alliance between the two covens. That Demetri found her is a windfall indeed." Demetri's silent heart sinks. Marcus is right, of course he is right, but...

"So it would seem," says Aro thoughtfully. "And yet…one might wonder if returning the child is truly the right course to take." Demetri looks at Aro, hardly daring to hope. "After all," continues Aro, "she is a precious and unique individual, a specimen to be valued. Yet in their care she was nearly killed a number of times in only a few days! Are they truly the right ones to raise such a child?"

Aro takes Marcus's hand and gazes at Demetri and Nereid speculatively.

"Indeed," he continues, "I almost wonder if she might not be better served by remaining in our care. The child's parents are both dead. She has no living blood relations beyond perhaps her mother's, but of course a human could not be expected to raise her properly. Do we not have a responsibility to her? As we have a responsibility to all under our eye. That she is not a full vampire should not disqualify her from our protection."

Marcus shrugs. "As you see fit. I have no strong feelings on the matter. I have undertakings which more fully require my attention. I wish only to return to Volterra with all possible haste. I leave this decision with you, Aro."

Demetri can hardly believe what he is hearing. He is sure something will happen to prevent the dearest wish of his heart from being fulfilled, but he cannot help the hopeful thrill that rushes through his bloodless veins.

"That is well," says Aro. "However, we must act carefully. The Cullens cannot be expected to appreciate our good intentions right away. Perhaps it would be best for all concerned if we were to employ some innocent subterfuge. The sooner Carlisle and his coven are provided with closure, the sooner they can begin to heal from the grief Edward and Bella's deaths have no doubt caused them. We are uniquely able to give them such closure, if we wish. Would it not be more merciful, Marcus?"

"As you say," says Marcus noncommittally. "What would you have us do?" He could not be more transparent in his desire to get this over with.

"Very little," says Aro. "Your assistance will not be required for long." He turns to Demetri, who is rocking Nereid gently back and forth. Her head has drooped, and although she is not quite asleep yet, she is definitely drifting. "Much of the burden of this endeavor will fall to our skilled tracker. Demetri, how prepared are you to begin a new mission, one which will require your utmost concentration and effort?"

"I will do as you say, milord," says Demetri, carefully controlling the agitation in his voice. "You have only to command me."

"I am relieved to hear it," says Aro—as if Demetri would ever answer otherwise. "But I must make clear that this mission will be of a nature wholly alien to you, and of indefinite duration. It may require that you spend much of your time far from the comforts of Volterra. You will be required to continue in your current capacity as our primary tracker, while simultaneously committing wholeheartedly to the welfare of this child for as long as I deem necessary. I repeat: how prepared are you to take on so enormous an undertaking?" He looks at Demetri narrowly, as if daring him to demur. But Demetri, if he had a beating heart, would be flushed with joy right now. Is Aro saying what he thinks he's saying?

"Milord," says Demetri, "I swear to you that every resource at my disposal, personal or otherwise, is yours to command. And may I be frank with you, milord?"

"I would not have it otherwise."

"If by any action I may improve the quality of Nereid's life, with your blessing I will not hesitate to perform it. My loyalty and affection for her are second only to the love I bear you. If it is possible for me to serve you both at once, I will not merely accede to your command, I will _beseech _ you to make use of me. That is my answer."

Aro smiles a slow and pleased smile that does not reach his eyes. "You answer well, skilled Demetri," he says with satisfaction. "Therefore let us go in search of repast and discuss our next action. I have much for you to do."

* * *

Every nerve in Jacob's body is clanging at him to do one of three things:

1. Wolf up and attack the three red-eyed vampires who stand so coolly in the foyer of the Cullen mansion.

2. Failing that, run the hell away.

3. Stay where he is and beg them on bended knee to help him find his imprint.

Since each of these things directly contradicts the two others, he is in considerable discomfort. But there is really no contest: Nessie's well-being is miles above his own safety and his hatred for leeches. So he stands with Emmett, Rosalie, Alice and Jasper as Esme and Carlisle lead the three members of the Volturi into the living room. Everyone is being courtly and polite, tip-toeing around the fact that the Volturi screwed the Cullens over majorly on at least one other occasion.

"How unusual to see you outside of Volterra without Renata by your side," Carlisle is saying.

"But Carlisle, Renata is my bodyguard," says Aro. "I need no such protection when I visit friends. Or should I be less trusting?"

"You are quite right," says Carlisle. "And I must again express my gratitude that you've taken such a personal interest in helping us. Your willingness to travel so far on such short notice is of inestimable value to me and my family."

"It is our honor that you chose to confide your troubles in us," says Aro in a voice that is at once oily and brittle. "I only wish you had done so earlier, old friend."

While Carlisle and Aro perform their choreographed social movements, Jacob takes stock of the three visitors.

There is Aro, unmistakably the leader on this expedition. Obviously, Jacob hates him. Jacob hates him on such a primal level that he can't even regulate his own body. He feels the warning signs of an involuntary phase shivering up and down his spine and digs his nails into his palms to stave it off. When he draws blood from his own flesh, the three vampires flick their eyes briefly over at him in unison, but otherwise none of them move. They don't even pretend to be human like the Cullens do.

Aro has a slow, pretentious voice that grates on Jacob's psyche. The more he tries to block it out, the more it penetrates his eardrums, so to distract himself he looks over the other two vampires.

Marcus hasn't said anything. He looks like a statue, not even breathing. Jake has heard of him, with his moronic skill. Frankly, he looks like kind of a pansy. Marcus troubles Jake the least of the three.

Then there is Demetri. Although Aro is indisputably the voice of this trio, Demetri has a certain physical presence the other two lack. He's an inch or so taller than Edward used to be, although of course Jake would still have to stoop to look him in the eye, if he ever felt like seeing eye to eye with a monster. He's clearly Mediterranean, lean, with black hair tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He looks weirdly normal standing next to the other freaks, in human clothes instead of the dour suits and cloaks they wear. This irritates the hell out of Jake, because Demetri is _not _ normal. He's an aberration. Why doesn't he just accept that?

The freak in question looks over at Jacob, who tries to suppress his urge to snarl. Demetri is infuriatingly composed, looking him over coolly and with a speculation in his eyes that Jake doesn't like one bit.

There is one other thing about him that puts Jake on his guard: though the eyes of the other two are cloudy and filmed over, Demetri's eyes are as clear a scarlet as Bella's were four days ago. Jacob can't believe they are asking for help from this psycho and his two…_handlers_.

But they are. Carlisle is working around to it now, explaining what happened the day Bella and Edward were killed, recounting their search. Jake knows that Aro could learn all of this with one touch of Carlisle's hand, but neither of them offers to exchange knowledge in this way. Maybe that would be _discourteous_.

"We have exhausted our last leads," says Carlisle with a sad shake of the head. "We don't even know if she's—" He darts a look at Jake and cuts his sentence short.

"I am confident that with Demetri's powers we will have your granddaughter back in your arms in short order," says Aro with a twisted attempt at affability that makes Jake's skin crawl. "I have only one request."

_Here it comes_, thinks Jake. _What's your price, freakazoid? What do we have to pay you to save an innocent baby's life?_

"When Demetri has successfully located the child, I would like to meet her. I have never heard of such a creature in all my born years. I am sure that much could be learned from her."

This is both better and worse than Jake expected. Better, because he's not asking for anyone's life or allegiance. Worse, because Jake can say with one-hundred-percent confidence that Aro is the last thing on the planet he wants around Nessie. But he'll have to deal with that later. Carlisle is talking again.

"Of course," he says. "We would have wanted you to meet her even had she not gone missing. She is our pride and our delight."

Jake is so tired of all this bullshit that he could scream. But Aro nods at Demetri and says, "You know what to do."

As far as Jake can tell, Demetri isn't actually _doing _ anything. He stands there and gets a hyper-focused look on his face, not unlike Alice does when she has a vision. His fingers flex and loosen, his eyes widen fractionally, and then he looks at Aro with what can only be called alarm. He offers the head freak his hand, and then Aro's eyes snap over to Carlisle.

"What is it?" asks Carlisle anxiously. "Is she far?"

"Oh dear," says Aro. "This is most unexpected. How dreadful."

"What is it?" bursts Rosalie. So far she has said nothing, but now she strains forward, panting with anxiety. "Where is she?"

"She is nowhere," says Demetri, the first time he has spoken. Jake didn't expect them to be able to find her, but that doesn't stop him from slumping in disappointment. So they're back to square one, combing the earth inch by inch until they find her themselves. He rakes his hands through his hair and tries to breathe, tries to listen to the freaks in case they start saying it's all a joke, they've found her and she's only a mile away eating a deer or something.

"Nowhere?" Rosalie shrieks. "How can she be nowhere? Nobody's _nowhere! _ Find her, goddammit!"

"Rosalie, please!" Carlisle says weakly.

"No, it's all right, Carlisle; Rosalie's feelings are quite understandable," says Aro. "Demetri, perhaps you aren't looking hard enough?" he suggests delicately.

"I can only repeat, the child is nowhere," says Demetri. "I can sense where she _was_, a week ago, very faintly. But she is not there now. She is not anywhere. This happens under only one circumstance."

"No!" whispers Esme, covering her mouth with one hand. Rosalie puts her head in her hands and Emmett wraps his arm around her shaking shoulders. Alice is pacing like a caged animal.

"Surely there is some mistake," Carlisle objects. "Perhaps because she is a hybrid—"

"I track human and vampire alike," says Demetri, "In a thousand years I have never made a mistake. Despite being a hybrid, your granddaughter is not immune to my power. I repeat: I can sense where she was. Her psychic identification is as obvious to me as yours, Carlisle. She is simply—"

"She's _not dead_," growls Jake, and the room grows silent as nine pairs of vampire eyes turn to look at him. "You say that one more time and I will tear your fucking head off."

"Forgive me, who did you say you were?" asks Aro with the faintest hint of a sneer.

"Aro, this is Jacob Black," begins Carlisle. "He is a friend of the—"

But before Carlisle can finish his sentence, Jake has launched himself at Demetri, clothes flying everywhere in an explosion of fur and teeth. He has the satisfaction of seeing Demetri's revolting red eyes widen in surprise before he is borne down under Jake's massive wolf weight. There are voices buzzing around him which he ignores in his attempt to liberate the Greek freak's head from his body.

In a matter of seconds Carlisle and Esme have succeeded in pulling Jake off of the snarling tracker. His red fur bristles and he snaps and growls at all nine vampires, Cullens and Volturi alike, but he can already feel his wolf form growing shaky: he can't hold it any longer. He shrinks back in on himself and curls up in the fetal position, surrounded by monsters who could kill him in an instant and wishing they _would _ for god's sake.

"A shape-shifter, I see," says Aro delicately. "You do make the oddest friends, Carlisle."

Jake doesn't hear him. He is huddled naked on the cold marble floor, shreds of ruined clothes raining down around him, blubbering like a baby.


	6. The State of Things

Nereid hears a familiar step in the hall outside her room and looks up from her book, eyes shining in anticipation.

"Oh Naaaaa-ry, where aaaaare you?" calls a man's voice playfully. "It's time for diiiin-ner!" Nereid—Nary, for short, but only Demetri gets to call her that—sprints to her door and throws it open before the book she was reading has even landed on her desk. She flies down the hall on bobby-socked feet and launches herself at Demetri, who laughs as all six stones of gangly little girl land in his arms.

"What'd you bring me, Demetri?" she asks excitedly.

"Oh, that depends," he says mock-seriously. "Did you do your reading?"

"Wellll," says Nary, tilting her head to one side. "I _was _ doing it when you got here. Oh, 'Metri, can't I have dinner first? I'm _starving!_"

"Oh," says Demetri, pretending to consider. "I suppose…since you were _working _ on it...all right, you can have your dinner now. Come on, it's in the living room."

Nary takes his hand and skips down the hall beside him. When she enters the living room, a very beautiful young woman stands up and holds out her hand.

"Hello, dear," she says. "I'm Catharine Farland."

"I'm Nereid," says Nary. "How do you do?" She curtseys politely. She has excellent manners.

"Demetri has told me so much about you," says the woman in her crisp BBC accent. "But he failed to express just how pretty you are!" Nary looks at Demetri with mock-accusation in her eyes.

"Don't look at me!" he laughs, holding his hands up defensively. "Can I help it if words are inadequate to describe your charms?"

Nary smiles at him. "I guess not," she says.

"That's a very interesting accent, Nereid," says the woman. "May I ask where you're from?"

"Greece, but we have already lived here for two whole months!"

"My goodness, what a little traveler you are!" exclaims the woman, laughing. "And now you're here in merry old England. You must be exhausted from all that flying around."

"Oh, I didn't fly anywhere _today_," Nary says, giggling. "I live here now!"

The woman looks at Demetri the way grown-up ladies are _always _ looking at Demetri. "Well, where are we going for dinner tonight?" She turns to Nary. "Do you have a favorite place to go eat?"

"Oh," says Nary, smiling sweetly at the woman. Grown-ups just go _bonkers _ over her smiles. "I usually just stay here to eat."

"Well," says the woman, "Let's go out tonight. It'll be a treat!"

"That would be very nice," says Nary, going to the woman, who stoops to her level to look her in the eye. "Thank you, Miss Catharine."

She leans forward to wrap her arms around the woman, who sighs a little wistfully and hugs her back.

"What a loving little sister you have, Demetri," she says, looking over Nary's shoulder to the man standing a few feet away.

"Yes, she is, isn't she?" he says fondly, smiling down on the two females.

He is still smiling when Nary turns her head and sinks her incisors into Catharine Farland's carotid. After Catharine Farland has gone limp, he picks Nary up for an affectionate hug.

"Did you get me anything for dessert?" says Nary hopefully.

* * *

An ocean and a continent away, Jacob Black ignores his alarm clock. It is still dark out, but since this is Anchorage in the middle of winter, that means practically nothing. He doesn't want to get up.

He never wants to get up.

Five minutes later, Leah Clearwater bursts into his bedroom, grabs the alarm clock, and throws it on the floor with enough force to smash it into pieces.

"Sorry, Jake," she says, "But seriously, if you're not going to get the fuck up at least turn off your goddamn alarm."

"Mm-hmm," he says, sitting up. He rubs his hands over his face and through his hair, which is currently the longest it's been in three years. In fact, he hasn't cut it since the day he found out—

He hasn't cut it since he lost his—

Well anyway, he hasn't cut it. Now it grazes his shoulders in tangly, knotted clumps. He also hasn't brushed it in three years, just like he hasn't bought a new shirt in three years, just like he hasn't spoken to his father or the Cullens in three years, just like he hasn't phased in three years.

"My mom called," says Leah. "She says hi. Charlie says hi, too. He said to call him if you felt like talking."

"Okay," says Jake sardonically. "I'll be sure to do that."

"Anyway, you'd better get in the shower pronto or we're gonna be late."

"I don't need a shower."

"Yes you do."

"No I—"

Leah jumps on Jake in the dark and starts punching him in the side. Unlike him, Leah's been phasing somewhat regularly to keep up with the pack back at home, and she is _strong_. She's taken to using brute force when he won't lift a finger to keep body and soul together. He would be grateful, except gratitude sort of falls under the category of Things People Feel, and he never feels anything but cold, dead pain.

Jake lifts up his baggy shirt and surveys the damage as Leah climbs off him and saunters out of the room to dress for their shift at the construction site. It's pitch-black in his bedroom, and it's a sign of Jake's diminished werewolf-ness that he can no longer see clearly in the dark. He can just make out a dark bruise that is very sluggishly beginning to clear up. It won't be completely gone for another few hours. Three years ago, he wouldn't have bruised at all.

These days, he's just one big bruise.

Reluctantly, Jake climbs out of bed, pulling his shirt back down. Why bother with a shower when he'll only be smelly again by nightfall? He pulls a pair of overlarge jeans over the boxers he slept in, shoves his feet into tattered leather work boots without putting on socks first, and heads for the kitchen of the tiny apartment he and Leah share.

"Hair," says Leah.

"What about it?" he says dully.

"If you're not going to brush it, which obviously you're not, at least put on a hat or something. You look like a fucking hobo." She presses a turkey sandwich into Jake's hand. He takes a small bite and swallows without either chewing or tasting it. He grabs a rubber band from a stack of unpaid bills and uses it to tie back his hair as he follows Leah out the door. There is a mirror beside the front door, but Jake avoids looking in it, because he already knows what he'll see and it's not pretty. Ever since—well, ever since three years ago, he hasn't been eating nearly enough to keep up the muscle mass he had before. Now he resembles nothing so much as a broad-shouldered, six-foot-eight beanpole, with hollow cheeks and hollow eyes that could be made of glass for all the warmth they convey. He's only nineteen, but he found his first gray hair two weeks ago. Not that he cares.

Leah drives them to the construction site, because the one and only time Jake tried to drive them anywhere he forgot to pay attention to the road and wrapped the Rabbit around a telephone pole. Leah does most things now, and she bitches and moans mightily about it.

But whenever Jake reminds her that she doesn't have to stay with him, she can leave any time she wants and probably should, she rolls her eyes and says, "Thanks, but no thanks. You're still less of a pain in the ass than my mother." So Leah keeps Jake alive because he's family and someone's got to do it, and Jake lets her because he lacks the motivation to challenge the status quo.

Thanks to Jake's dragging feet, they arrive twenty minutes late for their shift. The site manager glares at them before they even put on their hardhats and says, "Don't bother. Deke and Eric are filling in for you."

"Oh, shit," mutters Leah. "Okay," she says, louder this time. "When's their shift? We'll swap."

"Forget it," says the manager. "They need the hours. You two yahoos obviously don't. Turn in your vests on your way out the door. You can pick up your paychecks on Thursday."

Leah rounds on Jake. "Can't you get your head out of your ass?" she explodes. "All you have to do is get up when I tell you to, go where I drive you. Christ! Being friends with you is like trying to manage a goddamn wolf pack!" A few laborers overhear this and smirk at one another. "What are we supposed to do now?" she huffs, pushing Jake out the door and hustling him back to their POS used car. "We're almost out of gas and I don't have enough to buy more. You got any cash?"

Jake doesn't hear her. He is miles away, thinking about a baby girl with laughing brown eyes and a piece of green sea-glass held tightly in one tiny fist.

* * *

Demetri tucks Nary into her four-poster princess bed and walks to the wall-sized bookshelf that holds her library.

"Which one do you want me to read tonight?" he asks.

"Ummmm…" she deliberates. "Maaaaybeeee…some Lord of the Rings?" Nary loves Lord of the Rings. She especially loves the elves, which she considers to be fictional versions of vampires.

"A fine choice, milady," he says, going to the Lord of the Rings shelf. "You want it in Greek, English, German, or Italian?"

"Mmm…German!" she says. Aside from Greek and English, German is the language she understands best, and Demetri has promised her that they will take a trip to Germany soon. It doesn't surprise him that she wants to brush up.

"Before we start," he says, sitting on the edge of her bed and taking her hand, "I want to tell you something."

Nary's face falls and Demetri steels himself for a storm of tears—or worse, that sad, wide-eyed silence she gives him when she's _really _ upset. "Where are you going this time?" she asks him with a pout.

"Aro needs me to go to Italy for a little while. Only for a week or so, and then I'll be back, okay Nary?" He tucks a two-foot-long strand of golden-brown hair behind her ear and she nestles her face against the palm of his hand.

She rests her fingers on his wrist and her voice alights in his mind without her opening her mouth: _Please don't go, 'Metri. Please?_

"I have to, sweetheart," he says. "You remember what I told you?" She nods sorrowfully. There is one golden rule that governs their idyllic days together: Demetri goes where Aro wants, when Aro wants. No questions. No comments. He mustn't even _think _ about dissenting, because if he does, Aro will know. As long as he does that, he is free to travel the world with his little protege, basking in the sunshine of her love.

Aro demands Demetri's service about one week out of every two. This is as often as Demetri was sent out before he found Nary, but it feels so different now. Before, he was bored by the unending and unchanging tedium of his life in Volterra. He looked forward to these missions, looked forward to the chance to put his unequaled tracking skills to use. Now, he accepts his missions as a matter of duty. His real life is lived here, with this enchanting girl-child. It is the hardest thing in the world to spend half his life away from her: every time he returns, she is noticeably older than when he left her, although that process has been slowing of late. Still, it is a thousand times better than it could be: if the world were fair, he would see her _never_.

Once a year he is summoned back to Volterra to give Aro a full report on his doings, and an update on Nary's progress. He never holds anything back from his master; even if he wanted to, he couldn't. And he would never try.

_Can I come with you? _ Nary asks him in thought. Demetri sighs heavily. Aro has indicated that he would like Nary to someday learn what Demetri does. That is part of why Aro allows his best tracker to be absent half the time, raising a child no one in Volterra ever even sees. To raise a Voltura from infancy—to instill in her Volturi values and Volturi skills along with the ability to read and write and feed herself—what a unique opportunity! Demetri is not the only member of the Volturi who is responsible for Nary's education, but he is the highest-ranking. And he is Nary's favorite.

"Akashi and Alessandra will still be here," he says. "Won't it be more fun to have just the girls around?"

"No," she says petulantly. "I want _you_. Alessandra is mean." Demetri has nothing to say to that; Alessandra _is _ mean. He is sure that Aro only assigned Alessandra to her role as Nary's caretaker because she has a power which is useful in raising a precocious child: she is a brilliant teacher. A power like that is of little use for vampires, who have infallible memories and memorize everything they hear effortlessly. Alessandra should be grateful Aro is giving her work at all; until he assigned her to help with Nary, she was only a secretary working underground in Volterra, with no hope of ever rising in the ranks. This is a much better application of her skills, and a serious promotion. Demetri still isn't sure how her power works, but he does know that when she teaches Nary a lesson, the lesson sticks.

Akashi is much kinder. Her power is subtle, but Demetri can guess why she was made a member of the household: she is the embodiment of femininity. She has nothing like Heidi's brazen sensuality. Instead, she is refined, elegant, poised and talented—and of course, breathtakingly beautiful. Even among the more attractive vampires she stands out. She is a little older than Demetri, turned eleven hundred years ago, which speaks to her resourcefulness and resilience. Aro has known her for a long time, and although he has long admired her he has never offered her a place in the ranks of the Volturi until Nary's discovery. Akashi provided much of the day-to-day nurturing for Nary when she was smaller, but it is only now that her talents can truly shine, with Nary beginning to be old enough to require an accomplished woman's guiding hand. She is the closest thing Nary has to a mother, although they often seem more like sisters.

"Tell you what," says Demetri. "I'll ask Aro when you can start coming with me on trips. We'll see what he says. Will that make you feel better?"

Nary nods solemnly and sinks down into her silken coverlet. Demetri opens the book and begins to read in his most dramatic voice.

"Der Herr Der Ringe," he says in nuanced German. "Kapitel Eins."

* * *

When Nary has drifted off, about halfway through Kapitel Eins, Demetri marks the page in the book, kisses her sleeping forehead, turns out the bedside lamp, and leaves the room, making sure to shut the door silently behind him. He hears a miniscule sound coming from the foyer—Alessandra must be back from her hunting trip.

"Catch anything?" Demetri asks her in greeting. He doesn't really need to ask—her eyes are a vibrant scarlet, which tells him all he needs to know—but he should be polite.

"An American got separated from her tour group," says Alessandra with an unpleasant smile. "I gave her directions. And you?"

"I convinced Catharine Farland to join Nereid and me for dinner," he says. "I believe she interpreted this as relationship progress."

"Why on earth do you bother with those human women?" Alessandra asks, disgusted. Demetri knows it's a rhetorical question, but he answers anyway.

"Because it gets them back to the house," he says. "It makes it easier for Nereid."

"She needs to learn to do her own hunting," grumbles Alessandra. "It wouldn't be difficult. Look at how everyone fawns all over her. And _she _ can go out in daylight. She has practically none of the limitations of our kind, and yet you treat her like a blown-glass ornament. It's ridiculous."

"You sound unhappy, Alessandra," Demetri says in a falsely sympathetic voice. "Perhaps you should express these concerns to Aro. In fact, I'll be seeing him tomorrow. Shall I bear him your message?"

Alessandra shows her teeth in a furious snarl, then turns on her heel and vanishes back out the front door. She should know better than to complain.

Demetri expects Akashi back soon, and when she returns to the mansion they occupy on the edge of town, Demetri will have to leave. He packs his bag while he waits, then stands motionless in the foyer until he hears Akashi's light step coming up the walk.

"Good evening, Demetri," she says in her mellifluous soprano. "Going out?"

"Aro has requested my presence at Volterra," he says. "May I carry him any message for you?"

Akashi smoothes back a strand of ramrod-straight, silky, blue-black hair that reaches past her waist. "I'm sure your usual report will be adequate," she says. "I have nothing to add."

"Very well," says Demetri. "In that case, Lady Akashi, I bid you good night." Akashi nods prettily and Demetri goes to rejoin his masters.

* * *

**I admit, I stuck Akashi in here for purely selfish reasons. I just think she's neat.**


	7. Gifts

Demetri breathes in the familiar scent of the venerable stone walls of Volterra. His suite of rooms has been left intact for him, because to give the rooms to another vampire would imply that Demetri's work with Nereid is somehow a demotion. On the contrary, he has never enjoyed such an exalted ranking among his colleagues.

Few of the vampires in Volterra have actually met Nary, and gossiping about her is discouraged if not outright forbidden. None but the three ancients, their wives, Renata and Felix know her name, or that she is half-human and half-vampire. But the other members of the guard and the various staff of Volterra have drawn their own conclusions. It is common knowledge that there is some promising young child now being raised properly under the watchful oversight of the wise and ancient rulers of Volterra.

It is unfortunate, reflects Demetri, that Carlisle Cullen should be harmed in the transaction; during the two decades that they both lived in Volterra, Demetri rather admired the polite, intelligent doctor. But it can't be helped. This is by far the best thing that could have happened to Nary. At any rate, that is what Aro says, and Aro is never, ever wrong.

That Demetri carries out this commendable charge while continuing to serve as the Volturi's most invaluable and revered tracker is a glowing mark of status. The best part about returning to Volterra, Demetri reflects smugly as he passes by a lesser guard who bows respectfully to him, is seeing the cutting looks Jane shoots at him. Anything that annoys Jane is a good thing in Demetri's book.

Demetri waits in his study for the summons from Aro, which is not long in coming. Aro, Marcus and Caius sit in state and watch him approach them with his head bowed. They graciously accept his greetings.

"How does the Ward of the Volturi?" Caius asks. _The Ward of the Volturi_, or simply, _the Ward_, is the only name by which Nary is known here in Volterra.

"Very well, milord," says Demetri. "She sends her greetings, and gratitude for your continued sponsorship."

Caius nods, and then visibly allows his attention to wander. Aro takes over.

"Skilled Demetri," he says, "Will you favor me with news?"

Demetri strides forward to the foot of the dais and extends his hand. Aro takes it, and Demetri experiences the heady rush of memories coursing from his mind to Aro's.

"So she wishes to join you in your duties for the coven," says Aro with what almost sounds like satisfaction.

"She has expressed that desire, milord."

"Tell me, Demetri: in your opinion, is she ready? Would you take her tracking and hunting at this young age?" Demetri is caught up short. It won't matter what he says; Aro will do what Aro will do. But his answer will reflect on him.

"Milord," he says carefully, "I hope that very soon the Ward will be prepared to begin a more thorough education in what it means to be a Voltura. But in my own humble and imperfect view, it is yet too soon for such an action. In my work she would still be an encumbrance. But she grows every day, milord, and her development will soon be at that stage where it is necessary to consider her future career."

"And what might that career be?"

Demetri is stymied again. He always assumed Aro would have a job for Nary and that he would not be consulted in the matter, although he has always hoped that whatever her position in the Volturi he will be able to see her often. "I cannot say, milord," he says hesitantly. "She has great skills in a variety of subjects. She is utterly charming to human and vampire alike; I might have worried that her charms result from her youth, but I find that as she ages her power over the affections of others rather increases."

"Should she be a fisher then, do you think?" says Aro with a faint look of distaste: although the services of the seductive Heidi are invaluable to the sedentary Volturi, her job of luring victims to Volterra lacks prestige.

"I would think not, milord," says Demetri, mirroring Aro's expression. "She has other qualities which are far more unique. For example, it is practically impossible to say no to her."

"Is that so? And might you not think that simply because _you _ cannot say no to her?"

"That is possible," allows Demetri. "But I have found that even Alessandra, who bears no natural love for the Ward or for her task of educating her, denies the child infrequently if at all. And her victims do not even think to fear her, not even when they are at death's threshold. Few full vampires can say the same."

"To what use would you put this tendency?" asks Aro mildly. Demetri has never been so thoroughly consulted by a Volturi leader, and he vacillates wildly between feeling honored and feeling paranoid that this is a test, and that he is failing it.

"Milord," he says with as much composure as he can muster, "although it happens but rarely, there are some vampires to whom you have, in the past, most generously offered a position within this revered organization, and who have inexplicably denied you. Although their motivations in doing so are incomprehensible to me, there are some who have remained firm in denying the honor of involvement with the Volturi. Might not such people be more readily swayed if they have the example of the Ward to testify of the Volturi's compassion? Might not they be more receptive if the Ward herself seconds your generous invitations?" Demetri is worried that he may have accidentally implied a slight to the three ancients, but they betray no emotions. "That is only one of many possible uses for the Ward," he adds.

Aro is silent a long, long time, and Demetri becomes increasingly certain that he's about to be torn limb from limb for…_something_. Marcus briefly touches his hand to Aro's palm, and Aro looks penetratingly at Demetri through his clouded crimson eyes.

"Your views have merit," he says at last. "I have two missions for you. The first is simple, the second perhaps less so." Demetri bows in acknowledgment. "First, I wish you to seek out the vampire Olaf of Sweden. He has transgressed against our laws and must not be allowed to continue poisoning our well-regulated society. You will take Felix and Jane with you. You will be our mouthpiece." This surprises and delights Demetri: until now, Jane has always spoken for the Volturi. In all his centuries as a guard, he has remained very firmly in the third tier of power and status—higher than the lesser Guard but beneath Alec, Jane and Chelsea. Jane will be furious. Demetri suppresses a smile and merely bows his head in acceptance.

"The second will take considerably longer but will, hopefully, cause no disruption to your present lifestyle. In the course of your duties toward the Ward, you will keep one eye turned toward her potential. I will study her myself, when the time is right, but until then I would have you view her capabilities through the lens of this conversation. No observation will be too small to report back to me, no habit too inconsequential. That is all."

"Thank you, milord," says Demetri, bowing low and leaving the throne room. He is uncertain of what just happened. Was he promoted? Well, it does seem that way. But he can't figure out what Aro wants from him concerning Nary. He has always known that Aro rarely says anything outright. Is he to monitor Nary for vocational prospects only? Or is there something else Aro is after? He has an involuntary twinge of disquiet at the idea.

Demetri passes by Chelsea in the hallway and nods respectfully to her. She acknowledges his gesture with a slight nod of her own and continues toward the throne room. As Demetri listens to her heels clicking on the stone floor, he feels his qualms evaporating. Of course Aro knows what he is doing; what right has the comparatively embryonic Demetri to even think of questioning his master? With a renewed sense of loyalty and devotion, Demetri goes forth to prepare for his mission.

* * *

Nary is learning from Akashi how to put on makeup. She is quite good at it, although her applications are somewhat tasteless. That is only to be expected from a girl who is, to all appearances, ten years old.

"What goes next?" Akashi asks in her softly lilting voice. She is certainly old enough to have lost the accent she had in life, but she has maintained the tones of a Heian court lady as a matter of principle. Today, she would sound weird even to a native Japanese speaker, but to Nary she sounds perfect.

"Umm…the rouge?" Nary says.

"Not yet!" says Akashi, laughing. "Powder first. Then rouge. Then more powder. You always want to skip a layer of powder, _Masako-chan_."

"It feels funny on my skin," says Nary, wrinkling up her nose. But she dutifully applies the layer of powder. She has begged and begged Akashi to show her how to do her makeup like the girls in the scrolls Akashi keeps in her room, and she would not want Akashi to change her mind.

Halfway through powdering her lipstick, Nary hears the door opening and her ears perk up. It could be Alessandra leaving the mansion, or it could be Demetri returning from his trip. Either one would be good.

The door closes and there is silence. Okay, it was probably Alessandra leaving. Nessie turns back to her ornately gilded mirror. She is just brushing out her eyebrows when Demetri appears in the mirror behind her, a wide grin on his face.

"Masako-chan, your face—!" Akashi reprimands futilely as Nary abandons her beauty lesson and goes rocketing into Demetri's arms. In seconds, half of her makeup has rubbed off on Demetri's crisp white shirt. Akashi laughs helplessly at the odd-looking result of an hour's makeup lesson.

"What is this?" says Demetri. "Are you trying to be even prettier, Nary? Impossible!"

"Do I look like Murasaki no Ue?" she asks, posturing for him.

"I never met her," he laughs, "but I bet you're even lovelier. But you know what?"

"What?"

Demetri turns so they are facing the mirror, then presses his hand to the hemisphere of her face that has lost its makeup to his shirt. "I like this half better," he says, smiling. Nary pulls a face and wriggles out of his arms, running back to the mirror. Akashi sighs and begins cleaning the rest of the makeup off Nary's face.

"Did you bring me a present?" Nary asks Demetri's reflection. He nods mysteriously and she claps her hands in delight. Demetri brings her the best presents.

"I'll give it to you after you've cleaned all that mud off your face," he says jokingly as he turns to leave.

"Mud!" exclaims Akashi indignantly. "Hmph!" But she is smiling, her rosebud lips turned up sweetly in her perfectly oval face. Nary looks into the older woman's jewel-toned eyes and sighs. Everyone she knows and loves has red eyes; she studies hers intently every morning, hoping to see a tint of ruby, but to no avail. They remain boring and brown, no matter how much blood she drinks.

Demetri gives her the gift when he is tucking her into bed that night. It is small, about the size of her fist, but it has a heft to it. She carefully unties its silk wrappings and gasps in delight. He has brought her an ornament of wrought gold inlaid with garnet and enamel. It depicts the head and crest of a horse in a highly-stylized design; the horse's eyes are small garnet beads and its hide is represented with a hundred tiny gold swirls.

"Oh, 'Metri!" she breathes. "It's so pretty! Thank you!"

"You're welcome, sweetheart," he says, hugging her. "Okay, Nary, now let's see how much Alessandra has succeeded in teaching you. Can you tell me what this is?"

Nary ponders the object, turning it over and over in her hands and looking for clues as meticulously as an archaeologist.

"A pommel decoration?" she hazards at last.

"Right on the first try!" says Demetri. "Next one: When was it made?"

This is harder, but Nary is determined to succeed. She sniffs the ornament, holds it to her ear as if she can hear its horse heart beating. She studies the beaten-gold designs.

"Ummm…can I have a hint?" she asks.

Demetri shakes his head, smiling. "Give it a try first," he says.

"Is it…early sixth century?" she asks.

"Close," Demetri responds. "The museum dated it from 650 to 700 CE."

"That's not close at all!" Nary exclaims, leveling an accusing stare on Demetri.

"Okay," he laughs, "Last one. Can you tell me _where _ it was made?"

"Easy," says Nary. "Scandinavia!"

Demetri raises his thick black eyebrows, looks away and whistles with a great show of nonchalance.

"Isn't it?" she adds uncertainly, looking at the ornament. It definitely looks Norse to her, with the stylized horse's profile.

"You're real close. Try a little south."

"It's English!" she yells, alighting on the answer with glee. "I mean," she corrects herself, remembering what was going on in England in the seventh century CE, "Anglo Saxon. Did I get it?"

"You got it! Well done, Nary." Demetri's dark eyes glow as he smiles down at Nary. She loves when he tests her on things she learns from Alessandra—well, she loves when she gets it right, anyway. Which she usually does, if she has hints.

"Can you put it with the other Anglo Saxon ones?" she asks, and watches as Demetri carries the ornament over to the wall perpendicular to the bookshelf. This one is also covered with shelves, but instead of books the shelves hold the various gifts Demetri's given her over the years. "No, next to the other sword pommels," she directs. "Yes, put it with the enamelled bronze."

This task completed, Demetri returns to her side. "What shall I read you tonight?" he asks.

"I don't want a book," she says. "Can you tell me a story?"

"Certainly, Nary. What about?"

"Hmmm." Nary leans back on her half-dozen down pillows and thinks. Unconsciously her hand goes to the golden chain around her neck and she strokes the bauble that hangs from it. "I know!" she says. "Tell me about when you found this!" She holds up the necklace. It is of exquisite and unique beauty: Two titanium and two golden chains are linked together to form a length of surpassingly elegant and durable chain. At the end of this chain, held securely in place by a delicate network of gold-and-titanium filigree, is a smooth trapezoid of translucent green sea-glass. Nary is never without this necklace. It is more precious than her entire collection of ancient artifacts. Her memories of before she knew Demetri are imperfect, and so she likes him to remind her often of her earliest days.

"Good choice," says Demetri. "You had the sea-glass when you were still a water sprite, before I even knew your name."

"Nereid," Nary interjects.

"That's right," says Demetri with an indulgent smile. "Nereid. So-called because I found you drifting along in a boat at sea. You were such a sweet little baby that I thought surely you must be related to the gods and demigods of my childhood home."

"In Crete!" she adds, but more quietly this time. She turns on her side and listens to Demetri with slowly drooping eyelids.

"In Crete," he affirms. "I couldn't think of leaving you there to drift along by yourself, and so I turned the boat toward land. Before we could make landfall, you showed me a picture of a spark of green lightning."

"Mm sea-glah," Nary mumbles, already halfway to dreamland.

"Your sea-glass," Demetri says in a low tone that guides Nary gently into the arms of Morpheus. "I thought it must be the sea's last gift to you. I dug it out of the bottom of the boat, and as soon as you got your hands on it you wouldn't put it down. I strung it on a chain so that you could always have it with you, to remind you of the sea that first brought us together." Demetri's voice slowly drops from Nary's consciousness, because she is asleep. She dreams of the sea-glass before it was strung on a chain, when she first learned its contours with her small baby fingers. In her dream, she sits in a little tidal pool with a collection of shells and seaweed piled about her. A tall, dark-skinned male places the glass in her hands. She can't see the man's face, but she supposes it must be Demetri.

* * *

Demetri shuts the door silently and is downstairs in less than a second, making no noise as he leaps over the banister and lands softly two floors down. He is hungry, so very hungry. He is always hungry these days. He catches sight of his onyx-black eyes in a mirror on the wall, and grimaces at his own reflection.

Demetri has been on a strict diet ever since they moved to this large house near the edge of London proper. He has been practically starving himself, feeding only on the small remainders of Nary's meals, drinking little and infrequently. Painful as it is to submit to this endless burning thirst, it is worth it for Nary's sake.

A Greek with pitch-black eyes is nothing of note, but a Greek with scarlet eyes will draw attention. No contacts in the world will completely disguise the vibrant tones of a well-fed vampire's irises, and so he must do it the hard way. It is imperative that he be able to go out in daylight on overcast days, to take Nary to the zoo and to museums and to playgrounds. Aro has been very clear about this. One of Nary's greatest assets to the Volturi is her ability to blend in with humans more readily than full vampires. If Demetri doesn't give her human-like experiences now, she will grow up stunted. Akashi and Alessandra are ill-suited to perform this role, because their self-control is lower than Demetri's.

There is another reason also, the same reason that Demetri is dressing himself in fashionable clubbing clothes right now. Most nights, he does one thing: He prowls the London nightclubs flirting with lonely women, buying them drinks, dancing with them, complimenting them with insinuating subtlety until they are as drunk on vanity as on liquor. He knows where to go to find illegal immigrants, or sometimes prostitutes, and he is very careful not to show up at any particular venue too often.

Once his vampire allure and flattery have worked their magic, he confesses that it can be hard to meet nice women because he has sole custody of his young step-sister. This is the only relationship that outsiders will accept: it would be stretching it to expect people to believe that Demetri, who doesn't look a day over twenty-five, has a ten-year-old daughter. In fact, Demetri looks so distinctly Mediterranean, and Nary looks so distinctly not, that they must shy away from genetic relationships altogether. Instead, he pretends that she is his step-sister, left on his hands when they were both orphaned.

Nary finds this cover story hilarious, for some reason.

Any doubts that Demetri's conquests might have are eradicated when he shows them a photo of Nary, which never fails to capture their by-now drunken sympathy. Then he invites them back to his place, where they spend the night alone, passed out cold in Demetri's comfortable bed.

The next morning, when they wake up hungover and disoriented, Demetri has a hot bath and a meal waiting for them. Some of them even apologize for their failure to perform the previous night, to which Demetri always answers honestly that it's all right, he doesn't mind, he wouldn't want to pressure them. By the time Nary is up and dressed, the women are enjoying a gourmet breakfast in the breakfast nook. As they finish their quiche and fresh-squeezed orange juice and artisanal toast with plum preserves, Nary chats with them, sometimes showing off her most recent educational acquisitions from Alessandra and Akashi. It never takes her long to get them completely under her spell.

By the time these women finish their breakfast, Nary is just about ready for hers.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. And special thanks to my reviewers!**


	8. Resolution

Nessie is laughing, her perfectly white teeth glinting, her brown eyes glowing in the light of the setting sun. Waves crash at the base of the cliff she stands on. She flexes her fingers at the end of outstretched arms and Jake picks her up off the soft grassy ground, cuddles her to his chest. She is warm and pink-cheeked and her heart beats as fast as his. Nessie splays the delicate fingers of her dimpled hand across Jake's cheek and shows him her thoughts:

Her body is white, her cheeks and lips blue as she sinks like a stone into the frozen North Pacific. Jake screams and reaches out to her, tries to pluck her from the water, but a thick sheet of unbreakable ice floats between her and him. He can see her, but he can't reach her.

"…_up_, wake _up_, wake _UP!_" Leah shouts, shoving Jake off his mattress with both hands. He rolls onto the freezing cold floor and the air is forced out of his lungs, effectively cutting off his scream. His throat is on fire and his mouth is dry as a bone. He struggles to push himself up off the floor, but his arms just aren't strong enough and he collapses face-first on the cracked linoleum.

"Jake, hey, little brother, come on, please," Leah says in a cracked voice. She crouches beside him and strokes his hair and his shaking, bony back with her warm hands. She can fit a finger into the divots between each spine. His shoulder blades stick out far enough for her to fit a whole hand under them.

"Oh god, Jake, I don't know what to do anymore," she says, gathering him into her arms as if he were a child. He can't stop shivering. Why won't she just let him die?

"Jake, come on, oh god…" He can't even hear her. All he can hear is waves crashing. All he can see is a frozen baby sinking into a frozen sea. He is distantly aware of extreme physical pain, but he either can't fully feel it or doesn't care.

It is a fundamental truth about Leah Clearwater that she never loses her shit, not ever. She gets angry, she throws tantrums, she sulks, but give up? Not once since Jake has known her.

From the sound of it, Leah Clearwater is giving up now.

* * *

Jake drifts in and out of consciousness. He thinks he hears Leah on the phone, saying the name _Carlisle_, but it's probably a dream. He tries to cough, but he can't get a breath deep enough to do even this.

When he wakes up next, he is slumped in the passenger seat of a car. He tries to open his eyes but they might as well be glued shut: all he can manage is a slit of daylight through his left eye, with a blurry Leah-shaped thing behind the wheel. His neck is too stiff to turn.

"Hang in there, little brother," she says without taking her eyes off the road. "We'll be there soon." _Where? _ he wants to ask, but his mouth is glued shut too.

The next time he is conscious, he is on fire and there is too much noise. He is being bundled about like a rag doll, laid out on something soft that nevertheless grates his skin like sandpaper.

"God in heaven," says a shocked female voice.

A man—is that Carlisle? When did Carlisle's voice take on that buzzing surreal quality?—says, "He's burning up. Rosalie, get damp towels. Cool but not cold. Emmett, hold him down!" Hold him down? Where's he going to go? He's not the one thrashing: it is the earth that thrashes around him.

Jake feels something cool and wet on his forehead and on his bare chest which is struggling to rise and fall.

"Pneumonia, at least," says Carlisle's voice.

"Pneumonia?" says Emmett's voice incredulously. "I thought werewolves couldn't get sick!"

"They can't," says Leah's voice. "He's not a werewolf anymore. He hasn't phased in years. Not since _she _ died."

"Esme, I need the—"

Suddenly, there is silence.

* * *

_Beep_.

_Beep_.

_Beep_.

Is there supposed to be beeping in the afterlife?

_Beep_.

"Jacob."

_Beep_.

"Jacob, I know you're awake."

_Beep_.

"Open your eyes, Jacob."

_Beep_.

"Jacob."

_Beep_.

"Jacob."

_Beep_.

"Jacob."

Jake winches his eyes partway open. "If I open my eyes," he croaks to the golden-haired vampire sitting by his bed, "Will you shut up?"

"No," she says. "But I'm glad to see you're listening." He tries to look around, but there's not much to see: he's in a hospital bed in a white room.

"Why don't you people just leave me alone?" he asks. It sounds extra-pathetic coming from his raspy, ruined throat, through cracked lips that won't open all the way.

"Don't worry," she says, "We will. But not yet. Tell me, Jacob. Did you find them?"

"Find what?"

"The murderers. Did you find them?"

"No," says Jake.

"Did you _look?_"

"No."

"Well, why the hell not?" Now Rosalie sounds angry, as well as pushy and obnoxious.

"What does it matter?" Jake says helplessly. "It won't make her be alive again."

"It matters, Jacob. Believe me, it _matters_."

"If you say so," he says.

"Jacob Black," she says, enunciating her words like she's speaking to a mildly stupid child. "You listen to me. This is what's going to happen: First, you are going to do everything that Carlisle tells you to do, swallow every drop of medicine he gives you. You are going to beat this illness."

"What illness?"

Rosalie boggles at him. "Oh, I don't know," she says caustically, "Was I referring to the near-fatal pneumonia or the _goddamn meningitis _ it morphed into? Hell, even if you weren't a walking petri dish something else would have gotten you. You're twenty pounds underweight, your white cells and blood pressure are in the tank, and you've got basically no immune system. And you ask me _what illness?_"

"I didn't realize I was sick," he says indifferently.

"Sometimes," says Rosalie scathingly, "humans are really too stupid to live."

"That's true," he says.

"Your meds won't be done for a while, but as soon as Carlisle says it's all right you're going to start eating three square meals a day, which will be provided personally by Esme or myself. Over time you will work up to five."

"Rosalie, what are you—"

"As soon as you are strong enough to get up and move around," she continues without a pause, "you are going to start taking walks. Then you'll start jogging. Then you'll lift weights. You'll put back every pound you lost and then some. When you are strong enough, you will resume phasing regularly. That should hasten your physical rehabilitation."

"Not gonna hap—"

"And then you will help us find the _things _ responsible. We will kill them, but not before making them suffer ten times what we have suffered. After that, you are free to die in whatever way you see fit."

"I don't think I can do it," Jake croaks. He feels like such shit he can't even begin to imagine what it would do to him if he tried to phase. He looks down the bed and sees his ribs and knees poking up, visible even through several blankets. The force of a phase would probably snap his bones. Assuming he could even summon the mental discipline to try.

"I don't care," says Rosalie flatly. "Do it anyway. Say you'll do it. Do it for Nessie."

Jacob's eyes squeeze closed. On the insides of his eyelids, a pink-cheeked baby is holding out a fistful of seaweed to plant in his hair. It's nice in here, with his eyes closed. Maybe he'll keep them closed forever.

"That baby is dead," adds Rosalie severely, and just like that, Nessie's smile is replaced by a flaming pyre tossed about by the sea. He'll never be able to sleep again. It's been three and a half years, and he still wakes up screaming every night. Or sobbing. Or both.

Maybe if he gets vengeance, he'll be able to rest peacefully again. Maybe if he hunts down and destroys the things that did this, some particle of goodness will enter the world. Not enough to fill the vacuum left by Nessie. But a little. Maybe the world will be a better place for someone, if not for him.

"Okay," he rasps.

"Say it again."

"Okay," he says again, louder.

"_Again_. Promise me."

"I promise," he says.

"Good," says Rosalie. "Then I'll leave you to your recovery." She glides from the room, and the beeping of the monitors puts Jake to sleep once more.

* * *

Staying awake becomes gradually easier for Jake, in the same way that stepping on coals probably gets easier for a determined firewalker. The Doc has him on a serious shitload of antibiotics, and comes in frequently to listen to his breathing and natter away at him about self-care. Jake tunes much of this out.

Jake finishes his two-week run of medications before he is strong enough to stand up. Esme brings him breakfast, lunch and dinner every day, regular as clockwork. If he shows any unwillingness to eat, Rosalie appears in the doorway of what (it turns out) is just a spare bedroom in a twenty-room house and stares him down until he cleans his plate. His appetite doesn't return, but once he's committed to hunting down Nessie's murderers, he stays committed. He doesn't know how many they're after. Neither do Rosalie and Emmett, but they can only assume there were several working together. How else would they have gotten the jump on Edward? Not to mention Bella, with her newborn strength.

Except that there was another newborn in the boat, one that couldn't protect herself. This is the thought that has really ripped Jake up. Bella might have been overpowered, if she wasn't paying attention. Edward might have been distracted long enough to be attacked.

Jake should never have let them go. He should have seen how exposed they would be, bobbing along in a boat on the ocean. They thought they were safe, they thought they had no enemies left. The only thing they had to fear was that Nessie would get seasick. Their carelessness is to blame. Edward's and Bella's and Jake's.

Jake stands up without help the day after he finishes his run of meds. Carlisle won't let him do any more than that, not until he's gotten back some muscle tone.

But Jake isn't bored. He has plenty to think about. He has discovered, like so many before him, that vengeance is a mass of expanding heat which will fill an empty space with red-hot flames. As long as he can hold on to this, he won't collapse in on the hollow left behind by Nessie.

* * *

**There. A whole chapter of Jake, for those of you who were missing him last week. Enjoy!**


	9. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Nary is having a trying year, that's for sure.

First of all, it is a major stone in her shoe that she isn't a full vampire. She never used to mind her half-human status—and no one has ever denigrated her about it, not to her face—but holy gods, humans have a lot of bodily functions. She only turned five six months ago, and her body decided that it would give her the grossest, most annoying birthday present ever: menstruation.

The first time she found blood on her snowy white linen sheets, she freaked out and went screaming into Demetri's study where he was reading a book. He had to hold her for a long time to get her calm enough to explain what had happened: she's _bleeding_, and she never bleeds, how can she be bleeding? Her skin is tough as nails! Is she _dying?_

Of course, Demetri deciphered her hyperventilating soon enough and brought her to Alessandra to learn the facts of life. She would have preferred to learn them from Akashi, but human biology falls under Alessandra's jurisdiction. So Nary submitted to Alessandra's dry, uninteresting description of what could have been a rather fascinating subject. Alessandra provided Nary with a variety of feminine hygiene products and showed her how to use them. Then Demetri had to take her to the doctor.

She's been going to the doctor every month since she was born. Now she has to go every two weeks, or have him make a house call. He only makes house calls after Alessandra and Akashi have cleared out, because unlike Demetri, they have unreliable self-control around humans, and this doctor is a bona fide _homo sapiens_. Nary has no idea where they found him or what they told him to account for her superhuman growth, high temperature and impossibly durable skin. Demetri assures her that Aro made it a priority to secure an expert human physician. Nary doesn't know what the Volturi have to do to be assured of the doctor's discretion, but whenever she brings it up, Demetri simply says, "Don't worry about it, Nary. You can trust Dr. Schaal."

Nary hazily recalls that when she was little, Demetri seemed tense and worried about how fast she was growing. But he doesn't worry as much now, because Dr. Schaal has done all sorts of tests and calculations and seems reasonably certain that, at the rate her cells replace themselves, Nary will not age past her prime. Needless to say, if the doctor proves wrong he will not live to regret it. But Nary doesn't worry about that at all. If she starts getting too old, she is sure there will be something the Volturi can do to fix it. In her mind, the Volturi are a coven of gods and demigods, like in her books. There is nothing they cannot do.

That was six months ago, and already her monthly periods are a familiar nuisance. The worst of it is that Demetri has trouble being around her when she is leaking so much blood for so long. It is bad enough that he has to go on errands for the Volturi so often. Now he has to avoid her for four extra days out of the month? She can understand his aversion, although as a hybrid she does not experience the maddening bloodlust that full vampires get. Her blood doesn't call out to vampires in the way that a human's would, but it does make them a little uncomfortable if it doesn't stay in her veins where it belongs. Alessandra and Akashi make themselves scarce as well, and Nary soon learns to associate her monthly periods with loneliness and isolation. She takes to walking through London by herself, just to be around people who aren't holding their breaths at her.

And now she needs a bra. Well, a new bra, anyway. She can no longer get by on the soft, formless bralettes Alessandra used to order her online. She needs something that fits, something with an underwire that will hold up the C-cups that have appeared on her chest practically overnight. The only member of the household who can actually take Nary places in daylight is Demetri, and she wouldn't dream of asking him to take her _bra shopping_. Heavens.

So Akashi has ordered one of everything from every high-end lingerie website known to man, in every size that might conceivably fit Nary's small but swelling frame. And now she is forcing Nary to try on _every one of them_.

Nary is on Bra #312, and all she can think about is a snack and maybe a chance to cozy up to a good tome.

"Can't I just wear the hundred that we already know fit? Why do I need to keep trying them on?"

"Masako-chan, be patient," chides Akashi. "Only the tolerant daughter is rewarded."

"Okay, don't even try to pass that off as some ancient Buddhist whoosit," says Nary. "And does Aro know that you're expensing forty thousand dollars worth of underwear to the coven's account?"

"Yes," says Akashi. "He does. Well, he does not know it's for bras _specifically_, but he knows that raising a young woman is an expensive process. Besides, you do not turn five-and-a-half every day! This is my present to you."

"Can't your present be that I get to stop trying on bras?" mutters Nary.

There is a hesitant knock on the door. Nary's eyes light up as she looks toward the sound. Alessandra wouldn't knock, and normally neither would Demetri. Someone must have warned him about the underwear explosion in Akashi's suite. Nary flushes bright red as she yanks her shirt on, but her embarrassment is not enough to keep her from seizing this opportunity to leave the torture chamber.

"Demetri!" she shouts, falling into his arms. As usual, he laughs at her exuberance.

"How are you today, little one?" he asks pleasantly as they leave Akashi's wing of the house and meander toward Nary's.

"Awful!" Nary complains. "Akashi is torturing me!"

"Yes…I heard," says Demetri uncomfortably. "I'm…sorry?"

"It's okay," says Nary. "All part of growing up." She affects a Wise Elder Sister voice that makes Demetri laugh. She does so love to make Demetri laugh.

"What do you say we go out tonight?" Demetri suggests. "To reward you for exhibiting such grace under fire."

"Okay," says Nary. "Where are we gonna go?"

"I thought perhaps you might like to look for some dinner," he says off-handedly. "It's time you start thinking about how to find your own food."

Nary swallows against the sudden rush of saliva to her mouth. She is hungry. But she's never hunted before, not in public.

"We'll start off easy," says Demetri. "It's usually best either to get them back to the house or hunt somewhere isolated where you can dispose of them afterward. We can do whichever you like."

"I want to go somewhere isolated," says Nary. "It sounds less…intimidating."

"Very well," says Demetri. "I know just the place."

Demetri drives them to a large wooded park about twenty miles from their house. Nary knows that if her mentor were by himself, he would simply run; but she wouldn't be able to keep up. And besides, they can't just run full-speed out of a crowded neighborhood. That would kind of blow their cover.

So they drive, Demetri looking cool and relaxed behind the wheel of his Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano, Nary sweating buckets in the passenger seat as she frets and worries about how this will go. She's never actually hunted before, just drank whatever fell into her lap. She might mess up! And she doesn't want to let Demetri down.

They reach the park just after the sun has set. It's dark, but not too dark for joggers.

"Okay," says Demetri, "we'll keep it simple. You want to look for someone who won't be missed. That's the first rule. Often your surest target is someone on the fringes of society."

"Like the elderly?" Nary offers.

"Exactly," says Demetri. "The homeless are also an excellent source of blood, if you can be absolutely sure their blood is clean. Now, a full vampire wouldn't get sick from drinking any kind of blood—except maybe animal blood." Nary shudders. Animal blood. _Gross_. "But you are half-human, and we don't know how your body might respond to contaminated blood, so we're going to err on the side of caution. Only drink a hobo if his blood smells absolutely, one hundred percent normal. If he smells like anything weird, it could be an infection or it could be drugs, so back off. With me so far?"

"Yup!" Nary scans the darkness for a likely target. There are plenty of joggers, who are mostly young enough that Nary knows not to bother with them. But she sees a man curled up on a bench about a hundred yards away and tugs on the sleeve of Demetri's leather jacket. "What about him?" she asks.

"Let's go check it out," Demetri answers, and they begin to walk casually in the right direction. "Now, I want you to really smell him, and tell me if he's okay to eat. If we both think he smells fine, you can give it a try."

They pass quietly across the park and stand just as quietly behind the homeless man. While Nary can smell some stale booze on his breath, his blood doesn't smell unusual. It smells delicious. Her mouth waters. She puts her hand to Demetri's cheek and thinks, _He smells okay to me_.

Demetri nods solemnly in the darkness. _Go for it_, he mouths silently.

Nary takes a deep breath. The man is huddled up on the bench in nothing but an old coat. His breath is frosting the air. He is shivering too hard even to sleep. She will be doing him a favor.

Nary moves around to the front of the bench and kneels before the man. His eyes are glazed over, but he makes an effort to focus on her.

"Spare change?" he tries to say. Nary smiles and rummages in her pocket for a quid, which she presses into his hand. She looks up and sees that Demetri is still behind the bench, out of sight of the man and watching her movements intently.

"Are you cold?" she asks the man sympathetically. He nods. She strokes his cheek with her hot little mitt and he relaxes against her warmth. "Here," she says, leaning closer. The man's eyes widen, but he is unafraid. "Let me help you." She presses her teeth through the tendons in his neck like they are made of butter. Even if his flesh is cold, his blood is hot, and it spurts into Nary's open mouth like a geyser. It takes him a while even to realize he's been cut, and it takes him even longer to begin struggling. Nary presses her hand gently but firmly against his mouth to keep him from calling out. She holds her other hand against his neck, just below the gash, to keep him from pulling away from her lips. In this cold night air, his body begins cooling off even as she is sucking the last few drops from his arteries. She stands, looks at Demetri and grins. She wipes the blood from her lips with the back of her hand.

"How do you feel?" he asks her quietly.

"Awesome!" she bubbles. "Oh my god, Demetri, that is way more fun than doing it at home. I swear it even tasted better! Oh, may we do it again tomorrow night? Please?"

Demetri looks away up the path, then down at the hobo. "All right," he says. "I suppose we may."

"And…Demetri?"

"Yes, Nary?"

"Well," she says bashfully, "maybe if I can hunt for myself, you won't have to keep your eyes black all the time just for me. Maybe you can hunt with me, next time. You won't have to go hungry anymore."

Demetri looks touched that she has thought of this. "Perhaps I will," he says. "You know, Nary, sometimes I can hardly believe you were a helpless little thing only five years ago. You've come so far in such a short time. I see you now, your self-control, the spell you seem to cast over your victims… I am awed. You truly have a gift."

Nary blushes pleasurably at the praise. "Thanks, 'Metri," she says shyly. "Now, how do we hide this guy?"

* * *

Learning to hunt is one of the great joys of Nary's life. They travel as far as Germany for a weekend. Akashi has come with them, but she always feeds alone, and so Nary and Demetri have nothing to do but give themselves over to the hedonistic enjoyment of the chase.

Demetri has never yet hunted in front of Nary. He has fed in her presence a few times, but now that Nary knows what a difference it makes catching and eating a meal in one go, she is eager to see her mentor in action. He always swears that he will show her his technique someday soon, someday…

In the meantime, Nary takes great pleasure in hunting for the both of them, then presenting Demetri with her catch. She seems to be hungry all the time these days. Akashi says it's because she has yet another growth spurt on the way.

Along with longer limbs and fuller hips, the rush of hormones does odd things to Nary's temperament. One day she'll be as happy as a clam, singing and joking with Demetri and Akashi. The next day, she'll be flinging Tang vases at Demetri's head and taking pot-shots at Akashi and hurling epithets at Alessandra. Another day and she's back to normal. Demetri never loses his patience.

Sometimes Nary despairs that puberty has ruined their easy relationship beyond all repair. Things never seem as simple as they used to. And every time Aro calls Demetri away for a week or a month, it gets worse, this feeling that there is some delicious, exciting secret about Demetri her mind isn't telling her. It even manifests itself physically, in heart palpitations and blushes and shaking hands. Every time she sees him now, especially after an absence, she curses her stupid half-human body for going all wobbly in his presence. When she was younger, she loathed that he had to be gone from her life so often; although either Akashi or Alessandra was with her constantly, Demetri was the one she really adored. Perhaps it was _because _ he was absent so much. But now, even when he is around she never knows what to do with him, or herself.

It has begun to attract Nary's notice that beautiful women are always looking at Demetri with bedroom eyes, and they _shan't have him_, he's _hers_. Anyway, he's much too good for all those drippy humans (and vampires, for that matter). He's too handsome and clever. Nary knows he has never taken a mate, and it troubles her to think that someday he might be seduced by some artful siren and stolen away from her. Sometimes she forces herself to consider the possibility, the same way she would force herself to do sums for Alessandra. She reviews the female vampires who occasionally visit the household as scrutinously as a matchmaker, but as soon as she finds one who could make Demetri a good mate, she discovers the interloper has an unpleasant laugh, or a tendency toward vacuity, or a habit of telling the same stories more than once. This merely cements her feeling that Demetri is vastly superior to the entirety of the vampire race, and that he should remain hers—and hers alone—forever.

The worst, though, is that there is a growing sense in Nary's consciousness that in fact Demetri is _not _ hers. He is a whole entire person, and part of him is hers and part of him (too big a part, if you ask her) is Aro's and part of him is locked away in a little box he keeps somewhere in the center of his ribcage. Although she is well aware that he is smart and clever and imaginative and sometimes silly and sometimes serious and always wonderful, she has only begun to scratch the surface of his essential _Demetri-ness_. It fascinates her to think of him as an entity that she can't own or even fully understand, but it also confuses her. And being confused makes her angry, which is why she flings vases.

There is another thing to mark the oddness of growing older: her dreams these days are just bizarre. She has dreams that don't even make sense. Well, she reasons, dreams don't have to make sense. But these are so vivid.

There is a recurring one that usually frightens her awake. It is an indistinct dream, but it repeats so often that the individual components have become familiar.

There is a boat on the ocean. The boat is burning, and two vampires grapple together, each trying to topple the other into the flames. The pale female wrenches the dark female's arm from its socket and drops it in the fire. She rips off the dark one's head, which goes spinning into the water.

Then she catches a stray spark from the fiery boat and burns away in an instant.

What does this dream mean? It's awfully specific. Nary looks it up in an arcane dream dictionary Alessandra keeps in her room. _"Fire, when it burneth not the watcher, denoteth purification of the Ego. At sea, a profitable journey. At home, prosperity and longevity. When it consumeth all, it consumeth the unheard memory which polluteth the mind. Cleanse thee thy memory and perish the flame."_

Nary slams the book shut in disgust. That has got to be the stupidest thing she's ever read.

The other dreams aren't so bad, but they are often bewildering. There is one dream that appears more often than the others—or, if not a specific dream, then a specific figure from a dream. For the life of her Nary can't figure out who he is or how he got into her head. He feels as familiar to her as her own face, because he's hovered in the background of her dreams for as long as she can remember. It is only now as she makes inroads into pubescence that he is stepping into the foreground. It's getting to be ridiculous. She goes to sleep as herself, Nereid, Ward of the Volturi, and somehow halfway through she ends up someone else, living somewhere unfamiliar. And that boy is always there, usually not even doing anything, just…being there. Smiling, mostly, but sometimes he looks so sad it breaks her heart.

"Akashi-san," she says to her mentor. "I'm being haunted by a figment of my own imagination."

"Aren't we all?" says Akashi in her most infuriatingly Heian accent.

"No, I mean it," insists Nary, before Akashi can go off on a tangent about her ancestors. "I dream about him all the time."

"Really?" says Akashi with a little more interest. "Who is it?"

"I have no idea," Nary admits. "It's not clear."

"Well, tell me about him."

"He's…um, he's young…ish. I can't tell his age, actually. He looks my age, but also not…if you see what I mean. And he has dark, sort of tan skin, and he has really black hair and black eyes and he's extremely tall and he's always happy to see me and he's so…he's just so…" She has no idea how to put into words how this person makes her feel. She has started to look forward to bedtime as much as she looks forward to hunting. "He's so happy," she finishes lamely. That's the only way she can think to put it.

"Hmmm," says Akashi with a sly smile. "Tall, dark, and happy to see you? Whoever could it be?" Nary has no idea what is meant by this remark, but it makes her blush to the roots of her hair.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! I can't believe it's Friday again. I feel like I just posted two days ago. What do you think of Growing-Up Nary? And what about that poor homeless guy, eh?**

**Also, that thing from the dream dictionary? Totally real. Well, I mean, there are a lot of different dictionaries out there, so I'm sure I could have figured out some way to hammer the metaphor home, but it was a pleasant coincidence when my rudimentary research turned up the tidbit that dreams about fire are considered to refer to prosperity, loss and memory. Of course, I had to write the passage in my own words, to make it seem more Old-Timey (Alessandra doesn't own any books newer than four hundred years old), but still. Convenient, yeah?**

**(In my own experience, a dream about burning probably means I ate too much dessert and forgot to turn on the AC, but whatever.)**


	10. Techniques

Demetri puts off hunting in front of Nary for a long time. He is reluctant to expose his hunting-self to her, because when he hunts he drifts away from the contained, disciplined version of himself that he wishes her to know. But she begs so earnestly for him to show her his technique, and she opens her eyes so wide and her lips quiver a little, and he is lost. Demetri can deny her nothing, not when she asks like that.

And so they go for a hunting trip, without even Akashi for company. They travel to Mongolia and approach the smaller, more isolated herding settlements, where death is merely a part of life and disappearances (especially in the sun-bleached madness of summer) are not unexpected. There, Nary asks him one more time to hunt for her, and at last he complies.

He tracks a solitary traveler walking from one small town to the next. He feels around in his mind, identifies any strands that are emotionally close to this man's, and finds that while the man has some family, he is not part of a geographically tight-knit group. He directs Nary to stay out of sight, and then he allows his hunting instincts to take over. He could of course simply grab the man and drink from him, but Demetri hasn't hunted like that in ages. He much prefers to get his victims' adrenaline flowing, because that pushes the blood more enthusiastically through their bodies and into his mouth. So he stalks this lonely traveler, letting his footsteps be heard but vanishing whenever the man turns to look. He can hear and smell the man's fear, can smell the effect it has on his blood. The venom pools in Demetri's mouth.

When the man is good and worried, Demetri leaps soundlessly in front of him. He lands softly, rolling his feet to absorb the shock. The man visibly recoils. Demetri walks toward him at a rather casual human pace. The man backs up a few steps. He is almost where Demetri wants him.

As soon as the man turns to run, Demetri makes his move. In less time than it takes the man to sort out his feet, Demetri has his neck gripped firmly in one hand. The man's scream is choked off by strong vampire fingers, and his body is picked up by strong vampire arms and carried out of sight of the road, closer to where Nary waits. Demetri nicks the man's throat with his teeth and catches the flow in his mouth without spilling a drop. He sucks the man dry, aware of nothing but the sheer pleasure of feeding. There is a carnal delight in this act that is absent when one's meals are brought in from outside. The blood tastes so much sweeter and fresher if it has a little rush to give it flavor.

After only a few moments, he stands and drops the man. Nary is watching him with excited fascination, her hands gripped together and her lips slightly parted. He can hear her panting faintly. It is only with effort that he subdues his own natural high, composes himself, and buries the man under a boulder the size of a school bus. In all that time, Nary doesn't speak, just watches him.

When he is done hiding the body, she takes his hand and shows him the last few minutes. Demetri can't help but notice how caressingly her memories focus on his body in motion, how intimately she observes his limbs and fingers. When she replays his own lips lapping up the flowing warm blood, she also transmits an indefinable sense of longing and hunger that makes him snatch his hand away and stare at her. It is early evening and they can both see well in the dark. Demetri can't miss that her pupils are enlarged and her cheeks are flushed poppy-red. He certainly can't miss the sound of her thudding heart. He has never seen her like this before...has he? Demetri scans through his memories of the past few months, and it occurs to him that this nervous agitation is not exactly new. He has been so busy marveling at the evolution of her remarkable mind that he simply hasn't noticed the rest of her is evolving too.

But it is true that he has sensed her eyes following him from time to time, has heard the stumbling of her heart when he comes upon her unexpectedly. It almost seems as if Nary has a secret.

"I want to try," she says in a whisper. "That was so beautiful. It smelled…it smelled wonderful." Wordlessly, Demetri leads her a few miles away, to another deserted road. They wait at a bend in the road for several minutes, Nary's heartbeat their only accompaniment. Demetri's mind is stumbling blindly along an unfamiliar path and all he can do is stare out at the arid landscape, waiting for something—_something_—that feels as inevitable as it is unknown.

At last, he hears a pair of feet hurrying along the road. Nary looks questioningly at him. He nods at her in the red sunset. _All yours_, he mouths. Then he stands still, watching.

Nary glides out to meet the man as he comes around the bend. He is perhaps sixty years old, not much past the prime of his life and dressed in the simple garb favored by peasants around here. Demetri tries to imagine how this all must appear to the man, for Nary to appear out of nowhere like a spirit, so beautiful in this slanting light. The wind whips her long hair about her face, plasters it around her lithe form. She smiles at the man, who regards her with optimistic caution. Demetri suppresses a laugh. If she's trying to get the man worried, it's not working. She'll have to do something outrageous to get this man's blood pumping; there is just something so fundamentally non-threatening about Nary. Her victims usually don't even think to scream until they're half dead, and by then they're too weak to make a sound.

The same thought seems to have occurred to her, because she frowns a little in puzzlement. The man makes no attempt to walk on, instead standing stock-still and openly taking in her five-foot-six frame, her golden-brown mane, her enormous eyes. Nary looks up and down the deserted road. There is visibility for miles, and nothing out there but empty land. She seems to be thinking.

The man continues to watch her in puzzled curiosity. Demetri does the same. She runs a hand through her hair, from scalp all the way down to the ends, and flicks it playfully toward the man. Demetri smiles to himself: with the direction the wind is blowing, the man just got a lungful of the scent of Nary's hair. Demetri can personally attest to its allure. Unless this man has no sense of smell at all, his heart should be speeding up right about now—though not with terror.

Ah, yes. There it is.

Nessie hears it too and favors the man with her witch's smile. Not a word has been spoken. The man seems to be in a trance. Truth be told, so is Demetri, riveted on the scene before him which holds him in thrall like nothing else ever has. Demetri has never seen Nary like this, so self-assured, so graceful and composed. She well knows how to hunt by this time: now she's _playing_. And so what Nary does next is unexpected even to Demetri, who knows her endgame.

She takes off her jacket.

She takes her time with it. It is a well-fitted leather affair with a double row of buttons, and Nary milks the process for all it's worth. She unhooks every button slowly, slowly, making each one an occasion for hallelujah. When the last button is freed, she rotates her shoulders back in one fluid movement and lets the jacket slide smoothly from her. She is wearing a silk camisole underneath, and the man—and Demetri—can tell that there's nothing at all beneath that.

There is a subtle arrhythmia to the man's heartbeat that is becoming more pronounced the longer he keeps his eyes on Nary. From the sound of it, the man is very close to having a coronary. If she wants his blood to still be flowing by the time she gets to it, she's going to have to act soon.

Nary steps closer to the man, presses her hand softly to the side of his neck. Either she sends him a provocative image or else the mere fact of her touch drives him over the edge. Two things happen at once: the man leans forward and tries to kiss her, and Nary dodges his approach and sinks her teeth into his flesh. The blood comes spurting into her mouth so enthusiastically that some of it sprays to the ground. Demetri watches her consume every drop and then allow the body to slump by the side of the road. She smiles down at the heap, picks up her fallen jacket, and walks back toward her companion.

"You were right," she says joyously. "It tastes much better with a little adrenaline mixed in."

She still has blood on her lips. Her bare arms are slim and toned, her clavicle a work of art, her tender pink lips second in beauty only to those rapturous coffee-colored eyes. Demetri can see that her narrow frame is mere minutes from full womanhood. When did the little girl with the clapping games turn into this goddess who can conquer a stranger's heartbeat without uttering a single word? Where did this siren-like creature come from? Demetri has never admired her more. And although before this night he has never given serious thought to Nary's life beyond childhood, there is one thought that now rules his mind with an iron fist: he has never wanted anyone more than he wants her now. He will never want anyone else.

This is what it feels like. This is what he's waited for, over a thousand endless years. This woman. Here. Now.

"I'm glad I took off my jacket, that guy was a geyser—" She catches sight of Demetri's face. "What is it?" she asks, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"

_Five minutes ago I belonged to no one_, Demetri thinks, _and now I belong to you. And I would not have it any other way._

Instead of answering, Demetri reaches out and dabs the tip of one finger against her lower lip, wiping away the blood in a translucent smear. He can feel her pulse through her lips and her cheek. He can see it at her throat, hear it racing in her chest.

She is so small beside him, but when she leans her face up into the light of the rising moon, it seems an easy distance. He touches his lips to hers very delicately, giving her a chance to rebuff him and praying to all the gods that she will not, because if she rejects him his life will be over. How did this come upon him so fast? How did she entrance him so fully and so permanently? He'll never be the same again. He is reeling from the transformation that being in love has wrought.

She doesn't rebuff him. She returns his kiss eagerly, and the blood of her prey and his mixes in their mouths. Demetri slides his hands down her upper arms and feels her erupt in gooseflesh at his touch, something a vampire's adamantine skin could never do. He is thrilled at the effect he is having, while simultaneously he bends in submission to the power she now holds over him. It is a raw and electrifying feeling, to be in love. As empty as his life pre-Nary now seems to him, he cannot regret that he waited for her. He would wait a thousand years more, if he had to. But he won't have to.

Nary tilts her head back and Demetri kisses his way down her taut throat. The sound of her rushing heartbeat, the smell of her skin and her hair and above all her _blood_… He almost wants to taste it, not because it arouses his bloodlust but because he would seize upon any means of getting closer to her. She seems to feel the same way, because she allows her fingers to drift upward, under his shirt and against his lower stomach. He may not have a pulse but she can still make him shiver. He nearly laughs in delight a moment later when _he _ makes _her _ shiver, with hands grazing her ribs. He's mostly only done this with vampires before, and he can now see what an abysmal waste of time that was. Nothing can compare to the pliancy and warmth and responsiveness of this half-human. When Demetri falls to his knees before her, she twists her hands in his hair and nudges his face against her stomach. Her heart thumps so loudly it almost makes Demetri feel as if _he _ has a pulse, for the first time in a millennium.

"Is this real?" he whispers in awe, tilting his head to look up at her. She is gazing down at him like a Madonna on an altar. "Or am I your next victim?"

Nary laughs excitedly. The sound makes Demetri's throat catch. "Can't it be both?" she says, and he revises his previous comparison. She is no Madonna, she is Judith, and he is Holofernes. He is her willing slave, and will be for all time.

* * *

Jake doesn't even try to resume phasing for another three years after his near-death brush with bacterial meningitis. It takes him that long just to get strong enough to make the attempt, and Rosalie is behind him every step of the way, nagging.

Charlie Swan comes to see him a few times, and is visibly distressed by the wreck that illness and grief have made of Jake's body. Jake is equally distressed to see Charlie Swan, for other reasons. As far as Charlie knows, it is Bella's death that has destroyed Jake. Charlie never even met Nessie, and although he heard about her afterward there is no reason for him to guess the real cause of Jake's pain. Jake submits to the man's fatherly hug and concerned questions and messages from Billy, but he can't allow himself to feel anything about it. If he does, he is sure he'll fall apart and go back to square one, dry-heaving over the side of a bare mattress in Anchorage.

Jake and Rosalie discover that the only way to get him to actually try is for Rosalie to offer herself as a punching bag. So she covers herself with padding (for Jake's protection, not hers) and lets Jake spend six hours a day pounding the shit out of her. He starts jogging every afternoon in the frigid Alaska air, and there is always either too much sunlight or not enough. Carlisle keeps him on melatonin, calcium, phosphorus, Vitamin D and sun-lamps to stave off SAD and rickets. Every morning he tells Leah that she should really go back to Forks and get on with her life. Every morning, she smacks him upside the head, laces up her running boots, and gets a head start so that he is forced to catch up. It occurs to Jake that his entire life is governed by two obstinate, temperamental women. Jake gives Leah crap about it because that frees her up to give him crap, which is ideal for them both. He gives Rosalie crap about it because she's annoying as shit.

The first time he tries to phase again, he's still thirty pounds under his werewolf-weight, and he seems to have hit a plateau. Maybe phasing will give his body that extra push. So he tries and tries, channeling the right series of muscle contractions that should, theoretically, carry him down to all fours.

Nothing happens.

He tries again, unsuccessfully. Leah tries phasing and then running at him at top speed, to get him going. It doesn't work. Emmett tries picking him up and throwing him, in hopes that the fear of broken bones will jump-start his wolf instinct. It doesn't, and Carlisle reprimands them severely for toying with Jake's health like that. Jacob isn't worried about broken bones. As soon as he gets phasing again, his bones will heal themselves and he'll be able to regain all that lost muscle. If only he can figure out how.

It shouldn't surprise him that Rosalie proves the key to phasing. After four frustrating weeks during which he has failed to sprout so much as a single claw, he is about to give up. He pushes away his lunch, which earns him a scowl from Rosalie. When he pushes away his dinner, she purses her lips, shakes her head, and then appears behind his chair.

"Not hungry?" she asks him pointedly. Jake shakes his head.

"Too bad," says Rosalie, and then she picks him up under one arm and runs outside with him. She throws him into a snowdrift and he gets an icy mouthful, effectively shutting him up long enough for her to start in on him.

"All you had to do," she fumes, "Is eat, exercise, and sleep. The phasing will come. But nooo, you can't even do that. You made me a goddamn promise and now you're not keeping it. Were you lying then? Because when you swore you would help us find the fuckers who killed Nessie, you sounded pretty serious."

"Rosalie, don't…" he moans.

"Why?" she retorts. "It obviously doesn't matter to you. I haven't _blinked _ in four months because every time I close my eyes I see her little face. Do you know what that's like?"

"Yes," he says, his face crumpled in agony. "I do."

"No!" she spits, "You don't. Her eyes, Jacob, I see her eyes, in such detail it would _blow your mind_. Her perfect, loving, happy brown eyes! They were exactly the same color as dark chocolate, and she squinted when she laughed, which she did every hour from the day she was born. But I guess you've forgotten all that. If you felt the way I do you would be goddamn _trying_. You wouldn't be moping around feeling sorry for yourself. You would be working. If you cared about Nessie—"

"Don't you ever say that to me again," growls Jake, low and dangerous.

Rosalie presses on. "What are you gonna do, cry at me? If you cared, Jacob, you would try to find her killers. If you loved her—"

"I said," shouts Jake, "Don't EVER SAY THAT AGAIN!"

And suddenly, to his immense surprise, he feels his forearms shooting away from his body, and his nose and mouth extending into a long snout. He falls forward from the sudden shift in balance, and by the time he hits the snow he's just Jake again. He didn't even pop a seam in his clothes. But it's a start.

"Do more of that," says Rosalie. "Get your shit together or this is all for nothing." She would sound smug if she didn't sound so sad.

* * *

**So...yeah. This is happening! Ouch. Thanks for your reviews on the last chapter-even the ones that, in light of recent developments, made me gulp and loosen my collar guiltily. Cartoon-style!**


	11. Plan

Jake's paws pass over the glittering snow without leaving deep prints. His speed is topping out around 70 mph. Leah is bouncing and cavorting around him, trying to spur him on to greater speeds with her insolence.

_Come on, you little nerd, get going. Are you gonna sit there all day? _ She plants in the snow directly in front of Jake, forcing him to swerve quickly to avoid a collision.

Leah's is the only voice he can hear when he is phased, and it is a relief that the voices of the other packs are silent to him. For the time being, he and Leah seem to constitute a pack of two—or, if you want to get _really _ accurate, they are each the alpha of their own pack of one. Neither of them takes precedence over the other, although either could probably take it if they wanted it: right now Leah has the physical ability to overpower him, but Jake is stronger every day, and he can once again feel the tickling at the back of his skull that urges him to take command.

But neither of them wants to be alpha. They aren't in a big hurry to get roped into some sort of dominance charade. And this arrangement suits them both better than the traditional pack order, because there is no forced telepathy. They can communicate telepathically with each other if they want to, like Jake and Sam did years ago in Forks when Jake broke away from the main pack. But most of the time, their wolf-minds are private, which is the way they both like it. All Jake wants to do is find Nessie's killers and end them as brutally as possible. All Leah wants to do is watch Jake's back.

Since he resumed phasing, Jake has made more strides in his health and physique than he did in all four years after the doctor pulled him back from the light. But he's nowhere near where he was at the height of his powers, seven years ago. That'll take time. Until Jake is physically ready to begin searching in earnest, there is a good deal of planning to do. He and Rosalie and Emmett confer daily on their plan of attack, although to Jake it more often feels as if they are going around in circles.

For now, Jake needs rest and food. When he resumed phasing, his appetite returned with a vengeance, and now he eats five meals a day. He hardly tastes what he puts in his mouth, but that is nothing new: since Nessie died, everything that used to give him pleasure has turned bland and neutral. The only senses that seem to work properly are his wolf senses, which are sharpened in contrast with his deadened human ones.

_I'm gonna grab supper_, he thinks to Leah. _Coming?_

_Sure, why not_, she replies. Then she leaps onto his back with her claws out, and Jake goes rolling. He is on his feet in a flash, circling and growling low in his throat.

_That never gets old for you, does it? _ he thinks.

_Nope, _ she thinks back. Then she bounds away to phase and change back into her clothes. Jake huffs out the wolf equivalent of a sigh and follows her.

Esme has an impressive meal laid out for Jake and Leah, heavy on the meat. While they are stuffing their faces as fast as they can, Jake hears the front door opening and voices in the hall. The Denalis must have arrived. One of the downsides to phasing is that Jake is once more repulsed by the smell of leeches. There's no way to avoid it, either: the Cullens live in the middle of nowhere, without even another house for seventy miles. This makes their place an ideal training ground, and neither Leah nor Jake is prepared to acquire food in the quantities they need right now. So they stay with the Cullens, in a wing of the house that the leeches don't use. But the smell still permeates everything, and every few nights the Denalis leave their more permanent compound a hundred miles away and pay the Cullens a visit. Sometimes Jake avoids them. Sometimes he doesn't.

Tonight, he doesn't. After finishing an entire roasted turkey with sweet potatoes and some sort of crunchy green thing, Jake settles himself in a corner of the massive living room and listens, because they are talking about Nessie.

"I just don't understand how it could have happened," Rosalie is saying. "I mean, how do you sneak up on a mind-reader and a newborn?"

"If only Nessie didn't block my power," Alice frets. "I could have seen it, I could have—" Jasper puts his arm around her, and the tense feeling in the room suddenly eases up significantly. Esme shoots her adopted son a grateful glance.

"Maybe it was the Volturi," suggests Jacob. Eleven pairs of eyes in varying shades of yellow swing over to him expectantly. They've talked about all this a hundred times before. So far Jacob has failed to convince the vampires of his view, but that won't keep him from trying again.

"And why, exactly, do you think that?" says Irina caustically. She is willing to be in the same room as Jake, but no force on earth will ever make her like him. This fact doesn't bother Jake, who has no love for her either. "Is there some new evidence you've uncovered? Because if so, we would dearly love for you to share it with us."

"Irina," says Tanya quellingly. Irina looks down at her hands.

"Just think about it," says Jake. "Who else would have the power to overcome those two? Besides, can any of you honestly say you like those sons of bitches? Eleazar, you left them. Why was that, again?"

Eleazar looks uncomfortable. "I disagreed—I _disagree_—with their methods, yes. I infinitely prefer this new lifestyle and the switch to animal blood, difficult though it may be. But I didn't leave them because they were evil, Jacob. I left them because I met Carmen. I would not rejoin them now, but I would not heedlessly blame them, either. Like them or not, they do uphold order."

"Anyway," says Alice, having regained composure, "I would have seen if it was them."

"Not if you couldn't see around Nessie," argues Jake.

"I'm sorry, Jake, but that's just not the way it works. I couldn't see Nessie's futures, but I would have noticed if the Volturi suddenly decided to pay a visit to Forks. That would have been pretty hard to miss."

"Besides," adds Jasper. "The Volturi asked Edward to join them, and they were definitely interested in Bella."

"Yeah, and then Edward refused," insists Jake. "They can't have taken that very well."

"They wouldn't have assassinated him simply for refusing," says Eleazar. "They were none too pleased when I left them, but they never threatened me. Besides, sometimes it does take a vampire many years to agree to join the Volturi. They must have hoped that he would change his mind in the future."

"They probably wouldn't have turned Bella away, either," says Carlisle. "They don't have anyone quite like her. Renata's powers may be more useful for a bodyguard, but Bella's ability was more thorough. She was immune to every form of mental power, even Aro's. They would have wanted to study her, if nothing else. Who knows what her power might have become, had she had the opportunity to develop it?"

"Well, fine," says Jake. "Who was it then?"

No one speaks for a while.

"It was obviously someone with a specific ability," says Rosalie after a while. "Someone with a power that could offset Edward's mind-reading and Bella's mental block. Who do we know that could have done that? Eleazar, any ideas?"

"Well," says Eleazar, looking at Jake uncomfortably, "I know of a few who _might _ have been able to get around Edward. I suppose Afton might have been able to do it, but his power likely wouldn't have worked on Bella. Or Alec could have silenced Edward's mind. Since Edward was used to the quiet in Bella's mind, perhaps he wouldn't have thought anything of it."

Jacob rolls his eyes. Afton and Alec...the Volturi guards. "There's an idea," he says sarcastically, "Maybe the Volturi did it! Why didn't we think of that before?"

"Except it couldn't have been Alec," says Carlisle, "because Edward could read Nessie's mind. He would have noticed if that just went blank. And it wouldn't have worked on Bella at all."

"And they would never have sent Afton," adds Eleazar. "He may be of little use to the Volturi personally, but his mate is Chelsea, and she is the lynchpin of the Volturi's empire. They never send Afton into danger. He is kept almost as secure as the wives."

"And anyway," says Alice in exasperation, "I would have noticed if any of the Volturi decided to come to Forks. How many times do I have to tell you that? Whoever did this, it was either someone who blocks my power—which, let's face it, the only people I couldn't see around were werewolves and Nessie, so obviously that's not it—or it was someone I'd never met, so I wouldn't have seen their decision. I've met all the Volturi with powers like that. It can't have been them."

"But if they decided to come after Nessie, that would've blocked your—"

"Who would have decided to come after Nessie?" snaps Irina. "No one even knew about her. Even if the Volturi did do it, which they _didn't_, their decision would have had nothing to do with the baby, so it would have showed up on Alice's radar." Jacob feels every hair on his body standing on end as he tries to ignore the urge to phase and give Irina a first-hand look at how her precious Laurent died.

"Jake," says Carlisle gently, putting his hand on Jake's arm.

At the contact, Jake jumps to his feet and starts prowling around the room. "Dammit, then who _was _ it?" he demands of the room at large.

"Maybe we're looking at this wrong," says Tanya. "Maybe we should stop looking at motives and just look at capabilities. Carlisle, in your travels, have you ever encountered anyone with an unusual ability, one that might have been used to this purpose?"

Carlisle shakes his head regretfully. "But of course, it might not have been a specially-gifted vampire at all. If there were enough vampires, they might have overpowered Edward, Bella and Renesmee with brute force."

"No way," says Leah. "They were killed between your territory and our territory. We would definitely have smelled a horde of unfamiliar vampires."

"Maybe they came from the west," suggests Emmett. "They could have taken to the water outside of our territories and just swam or boated in."

"Who could have known Bella and Edward were going to be on that boat?" asks Jasper. "If someone was doing recon, they would have had to do it by land because you can't track a scent through water; but if they came by land, we would have smelled them. Even if we didn't smell them before, we would have caught their scent afterward, while we were spread out looking for Nessie. There was just…nothing."

"Could it have been unmotivated?" asks Kate. "Maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Possible," says Carlisle, "but astronomically unlikely."

"There could be any number of vampires out there with abilities that would enable them to get around Edward's mind-reading," says Eleazar. "It needn't have been anything so obvious as a mental shield. Someone who could transmit specific thoughts at a distance could have fooled him; someone who causes sensory deprivation could have disarmed him. It could even have been as simple as a vampire with exceptional self-control, perhaps one practiced in the art of meditation who could empty his or her mind. The possibilities are endless."

"Okay," says Jake, "Fair enough. But at least we can be sure it had to be someone with a power. And if it was someone with a power, we can find them, right? We just have to find leeches—sorry guys, _vampires_—with certain types of mental abilities."

"Yes," says Rosalie, "but how?"

"We look," says Jake. "We use our eyes and our ears. We've asked around and no one's had any answers for us. We'll just have to find the answers ourselves."

"You want to start knocking on doors, Jake?" asks Leah sardonically.

"Not quite," he says. "But hey, everyone in this room can smell a vampire from a mile away. All we have to do is follow our noses. We won't try to rely on special powers or hear-say, we'll just use our own senses. Sooner or later we're bound to find someone with a power that could've done it."

"Um, that's all fine," says Rosalie, "But are you really suggesting we comb the earth, vampire by vampire, until we find the right one? You do realize that could take a thousand years, right?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," says Jake cruelly, "Does that not work for you? I thought you wanted to catch Nessie's killer. Did I get that part wrong?" Rosalie looks away.

"Well, how do we know which one it is?" asks Emmett. "Let's say we do just roam the earth, all that good stuff. Even if we do find a shitload of vampires that _could _ have done it, we're never gonna know which one really _did_. It's not like they'll just confess."

"No," Jake says coldly. "That's why we kill every goddamn red-eyed vampire we meet."

There is an instant uproar.

"That's disgusting!" from Irina. "You're a bloodthirsty little—"

"Jacob, be reasonable!" from Carlisle.

"Can't we talk about this?" from Esme.

"Wolfboy," says Kate, "you try this and you'll bring down every single nomad on your head. You won't live long enough to catch squat."

"I can handle nomads," says Jake. "Emmett's right, we'll never know if a nomad's telling the truth. If we just kill every goddamn leech we meet, sooner or later we're bound to kill the right guy. That's just statistics."

"Jacob," says Carlisle, "I know you're distraught—"

"Doc, you know I like you," says Jake, "But don't you start telling me how I feel. You have _no fucking clue _ how I feel. None of you do." He turns on the group, faces them one by one. "You know how you all feel about your mates? Rosalie, if someone murdered Emmett in cold blood, I mean in _cold blood_, pre-meditated, for no goddamn reason, you wouldn't be willing to crack some skulls to get at his killer? Shit, man, I _wish_ it had been that simple, I _wish _ I only missed Nessie the way a vampire misses a mate. This goes way the fuck beyond killing a mate. Nessie was the only thing that mattered in the world." He scrapes a hand distractedly through his stubbly buzz-cut, then turns to Carlisle.

"Doc, if someone wasted Esme, you would be depressed as fuck, you would never get over it. But you would still have your family, you would still love them, and even if you could never heal completely, maybe someday you would be able to look up and see the sun again." His voice has lost the angry undercurrent. He sounds like a lost little boy and a broken old man rolled into one.

"You," he says, addressing the Denali sisters, "Your mom. You watched her burn. And you're not over that, never will be. But you have friends, you've got Carmen and Eleazar now, and your world goes on turning."

"Jacob—" begins Esme feelingly.

"I have _nothing!_" he bursts out, cutting Esme off. He looks half-insane. "I see her burning, I see her drowning, I see her ripped up and her blood drained and her throat wrung, and I don't even have to close my eyes to do it. I'm talking to you people because you might be able to _help _ me, but I will tell you this right now: let one person in this room stand in my way and I swear to god and all the angels I will end you. If a whole row of widows and orphans lined up to plead mercy for her murderer, I would use their still-warm corpses as a roadway to get to him. If my own _father _ rolled his wheelchair between me and Nessie's killer, I would tear out his throat without even pausing to watch him die. You think this is because I _miss _ her?"

His eyes are two black holes swallowing up his face. "That baby girl was the whole world," he says, "and I am not fucking exaggerating. She was the actual, honest to fuck _world_. With her dead, no one else matters or will ever matter. Yeah, I don't have a problem with killing a few thousand leeches to get to her killer. You want to call me a monster, Irina? Go ahead. What the fuck do I care? With Nessie dead, we're all just meat." He stands there, towering over all of them, a radiant column of heat and rage. No one knows what to say; they can't look at each other, much less him.

"Jake," says Emmett at last. Jake turns and levels Emmett with a seriously scary look. "Hey, hey, I'm with you, dude. I won't say I know how you feel, because I don't. But I miss them. I miss my brother. I want to find out who I need to kill, and then I want to kill him." Rosalie looks torn, glancing from Jake to Emmett and back again.

"Jacob," says Kate. "Don't worry, I'm not going to try to talk you out of it." Irina glares at her, but Kate presses on. "Losing Sasha was the hardest thing I've ever lived through. I get that you want vengeance. You're _right _ to want vengeance. But if you want to find the killer, you need to be smart."

"I'm not—"

"Let me finish," she says firmly. "Your plan of hunting down vampires one by one…well, it's not ideal, but right now maybe it's the best you've got. But if you arbitrarily kill every single human-drinker out there, you could seriously damage your chances of finding the right guy. Don't say anything yet, I'm not finished. You need to reach out to every single vampire that can be trusted to tell the truth. Every vampire who has a personal tie to Carlisle or to anyone else in this room. You're going to need more eyes and ears than just two wolves and a handful of vampires. There are human-drinkers out there who would help us, if we asked them the right way. If you start blindly killing those ones, you're just biting yourself in the kneecap."

"Jacob, we _will _ help you," says Carlisle. "But we won't become murderers just because we're grieving."

"Fine, Doc," says Jake. "You go ahead and sit pretty with your family. I can't say I blame you. After all, _you _ still have something to lose."

"If we do this," says Rosalie quietly, "We don't kill indiscriminately. We do it like Kate said. We do it smart. We need to know who we can trust and then we need to trust them. Anyone else…well, we'll take that one step at a time."

"Rosalie," says Carlisle. "Please think about this before you make a decision."

"I _have _ thought about it, Dad," she says. "I've done nothing _but _ think about it. I held her for the first six hours of her life. I sang to her in the womb. She brought me and Bella together. She brought out the goodness in Edward. I'm not saying I'm going to start killing people right and left, but if you want to know the truth…yes, I want to crack some skulls. Someone has to pay for this. I'm going with Jacob." Emmett nods his agreement.

Carlisle bows his head. "Jacob," he says, "You must know I can't take part in any mission of senseless killing. But I will help you. Perhaps if I can help you find the killer quickly, innocent lives will be spared." Jake reflects bitterly that the more red-eyed leeches he kills, the more _actual _ innocent lives will be spared. But the Doc always had a shaky sense of morality, and frankly Jake doesn't care about that anymore. All he wants is to find the murderer. His sense of vengeance took long enough to gestate, but now it's a force to be reckoned with.

"Okay," says Jake. "I guess that's all I expected from you. Is anyone else willing to help?"

"Obviously I'm with you," says Leah. "Just tell me where to go and who to maim."

"I want to help," volunteers Alice, "I'm not sure I would be very useful if I came with you. I can't see past you, Jacob. But if I stay with Esme and Carlisle, maybe I'll be able to tell if something's coming. We can warn you, if we need to."

"I'll stay here with Alice," says Jasper. "Obviously."

"I'll help track down our allies," says Esme. "Between Carlisle, Alice, Jasper and myself, perhaps we can find someone who knows something."

"Question," interjects Eleazar. "How are you planning to figure out which vampires have the power to block Edward's mind-reading?"

"I figure we'll just hurt them until they confess," says Jake nonchalantly. He can practically hear the indignant eyes rolling all through the room.

"Perhaps I might offer my assistance," says Eleazar. "I can evaluate any nomads you approach; if they haven't the power to have done it, we let them go."

"We're not letting them—"

"That is my condition," says Eleazar. "I won't join you for anything less. And I believe you will need my power if you are to prevail."

Anything that restricts Jake's freedom to commit wholesale revenge-killing strikes him as a huge waste of time. But Eleazar's right, unfortunately. They _will _ need some way to sort out whatever leeches they find.

"Fine," he barks unwillingly.

"We will reach out to our allies," says Tanya. "We have many, but they are scattered to the four corners of the earth and it will take time to seek them." Irina and Carmen nod in agreement. Then Kate speaks up unexpectedly.

"I'll come with you," she says to Jake.

Irina's mouth drops open in astonishment. Tanya begins speaking very fast in Russian and Kate answers her emphatically, although Jake has no idea what they're saying. At last Kate turns back to him. "We have failed you in the past," she says. "I at least will not fail you now." Irina glares mutinously, but she says nothing. "I do not fear for my own life, but I do fear what it may mean if I let this crime go unpunished. I may not be much use in the search for allies, but I have certain…_abilities _ that make me an effective interrogator. That is where my value lies. I go with you. And when the guilty party has been found, I guarantee you this: though I will leave his body unmarked, he will be begging you for death long before I am done with him."

"Good," says Jake emphatically. "Okay. Leah, Rosalie, Emmett, Eleazar and Kate will come with me. The rest of you will tell us if you find anything."

"This may take you many lifetimes," warns Carlisle.

"No worries, Doc," says Jake with a humorless grin. "I've got plenty."

* * *

**Pardon me for missing a day. I was too busy livin' large on vacation in the land of sunshine, soaking up two-buck chuck like a sponge and getting sunburned in unnatural places.**

**Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter. Let me know what you think of these developments. How does Jake's rapidly-evolving personality strike you? And don't worry, most chapters won't be this, um...logistics-oriented. But we kinda had to plow through all this business to get to the good stuff.**


	12. Benvenuti a Volterra

Nary is nervous. Demetri squeezes her hand reassuringly and kisses her cheek.

"Your face is white as a sheet," he says. "Listen, we don't have to do this right now—"

"Yes, we do," she says. "I won't back out, I'm just nervous, that's all." They've been over it and over it, and there's nothing else for them to do. She is eight years old, the doctor has officially declared her done aging, and it's time for her to meet her benefactors face to face. She hasn't seen Aro or Marcus since she was a baby, and she doesn't really remember them as anything more than looming shadows. She's never met Caius at all. The three ancients have expressed a wish to see her in Volterra, and the three ancients must be obeyed at all costs.

"Besides," she adds, a faint flush spreading up her cheeks, "I'm tired of waiting. You know what I want, and for _some reason_—" she jabs him playfully in the ribs "—you think we have to wait until we get their permission." Demetri rubs his side and then presses his cool, smooth lips against Nary's warm-blooded throat.

"You know I wish we didn't have to wait," he murmurs, his low voice vibrating into her flesh. As always, the feel of his mouth on her skin and his visible efforts to restrain himself turn her on at once.

She sidesteps Demetri, trying to calm her heartbeat. "Hey now, 'Metri," she says mock-seriously, "If you can't be _patient_…" He laughs and holds his hands up.

"Forgive me, my love. It won't happen again. Or at least, not for another few minutes."

It was only a month ago that the three ancients extended their invitation to receive Nary at the Palazzo Eterno in Volterra, the ancient seat of the three wise Volturi leaders and their wives, but there have been so many preparations since then that it's seemed like longer. Nary has been under the guidance of Akashi since she was an infant, but the dainty vampire who once graced the Heian court has really outdone herself these past weeks. In preparation for her visit to Volterra, Akashi has provided Nary with a whole new wardrobe and a highly involved beauty regime. Nary, being half-vampire herself, has naturally good looks, but under Akashi's ministrations she has blossomed. Two baths a day, countless exfoliations and wraps and massages, hair treatments and endless makeup tutorials have left Nary glowing, gorgeous—and exhausted. She slept the entire flight from London to Volterra and arrived groggy and disoriented last night.

Fortunately, and to Nary's surprise, she has been provided with a small suite of rooms in the magnificent stone palace. This is where she and Demetri are now, awaiting their summons from the three ancients. Nary is dressed in a pristine cerulean silk day dress which emphasizes both her womanly beauty and her youth. Her glinting light brown hair is swept away from her face and allowed to ripple down her back, reaching all the way to her tailbone. She wears no jewelry besides her sea-glass necklace, but she did impulsively affix a small nosegay of hothouse flowers to the elegantly draped hip of her dress. The flowers were in her room when she arrived, along with a note from Aro reading simply, _Benvenuti a Volterra_.

"Remind me again why I'm not staying in your rooms," says Nary, touching up her lipstick in the ornate antique mirror. "I feel ridiculous taking up so much space; I don't even live here."

"First of all, my love," says Demetri, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, "The Palazzo Eterno is enormous, and Volterra Fulgida is even bigger. I promise, you're not taking up any space they can't spare. Secondly, you can't stay in my rooms because we aren't married yet."

"Not by my choice," she says with a raised eyebrow.

"If you were anyone else," Demetri says patiently, "We would be mated already. I would simply have informed the Volturi of my choice and no one would have thought anything of it. But you're not anyone else. You're Nereid, Ward of the Volturi, and I cannot simply claim you without the blessing of the three ancients. It is only by their goodness that you have been raised in our ways. It would be wrong of me to marry you without their benediction. It would cause them great offense, and it would reflect poorly on both of us. Are you not willing to wait for me, my love?"

Nary turns to him. "You know I am," she says, kissing him. "I just wish—"

She is interrupted by a knock on the door. All her anxiety returns and she throws Demetri a panicked look. He understands at once, and opens the door himself.

"The three wish to meet the Ward," says a silky female voice from the hall. Nary smoothes the front of her dress, takes a deep breath, and goes to the door. The woman in the hall is spectacularly beautiful, though in a markedly different manner from the exquisite Akashi. The woman seems surprised when she catches sight of Nary; then her perfect, full lips stretch into an alluring smile. "So you're the Ward," she says, and Nary has an immediate urge to get closer to her. She nods shyly, feeling a blush spread up her cheeks.

"That's enough, Heidi," says Demetri sternly. The goddess-like Heidi shrugs and holds out her hand to Nary.

"Well, it's wonderful to meet you," she says, shaking Nary's hand. Nary is caught up with staring at Heidi's jewel-like scarlet eyes. "You're even prettier than I imagined," she adds, and Nary is sure the goddess must be joking. "Follow me," she says, turning and walking down the hall, her six-inch heels clicking rhythmically against the stone floor, her heart-shaped derriere displayed beguilingly through the clingy material of her dress.

Well, at least Nary's not nervous anymore. Although she might be a lesbian now.

They pass no one on their long walk to the throne room. Nary tries hard not to be cowed by the grandeur around her. She holds Demetri's hand tightly and repeats all the appropriate protocol to herself as they walk.

Too soon they are there. Demetri gives her hand one last reassuring squeeze and knocks on the door. The door is opened by a lesser guard, who leaves as Demetri and Nary enter. She hears the guard begin talking to Heidi, but she is too nervous to listen to what they say. She is certain she's sweating off all her makeup, and she feels shamefully rumpled next to Demetri in his sleekly-tailored suit and perfectly smooth black hair. Not to mention the three ancients sitting enthroned at the far end of the chamber. Good lord, they could be statues, they are so still.

"Come," says the young one on the left—that's Marcus, Nary realizes. She knows she met him as a baby, though her memories of the first few months of life are unclear. Still, she has seen pictures of the three, and it would be hard to mistake them now.

Marcus is young and handsome, with an austere expression and conservative movements. Caius is the one on the right, middle-aged and severe, with a look on his face that makes Nary feel sorry for his enemies. And Aro is the one in the middle. Although he has the features of a man in his prime, no one could ever mistake him for anything less than ancient. Nary feels even more out of place here. Aside from her, Demetri is the youngest person in the room, and he is at least a thousand, so old he doesn't even know his exact age. She's a zygote in comparison with these venerable beings.

Well, no reason a zygote shouldn't have good manners. Nary sweeps into the low curtsey Akashi has been teaching her, and rejoices that she doesn't creak or fall over or anything similarly embarrassing. She keeps her head bowed until she is spoken to, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Demetri doing the same.

"Well met, Ward of the Volturi," says Caius. "I have long wished to meet you. And now you are here. How eager we all are to see what you are made of."

"Thank you, milord," she says. "I hope I will not disappoint."

"I am sure you will not," says Marcus. "It is quite plain that Demetri is overjoyed with you; why then should we find you wanting?" He reaches out and offers his palm to Aro, who touches it with one forefinger and then looks at Demetri and Nary with interest.

Nary chances a peak at Demetri, who is as impassive as stone beside her. She can't read his body language at all and wishes that he would smile a little.

"It is eight years since we met," says Aro. "Had I known then what a rapturous beauty you would grow into, I would not perhaps have postponed this meeting so long."

"Thank you," says Nary, blushing. Demetri often tells her how pretty she is, but that's to be expected; after all, he loves her. There is a formality to these three that she finds overwhelming. Every word out of their mouths sounds like it should be chiseled into a stone tablet.

"She blushes!" says Caius _sotto voce_. "What a rare creature, indeed. How fortunate that you do not _smell_ as edible as you _look_, Ward."

"Be considerate, Caius," remonstrates Aro. "You will alarm the child." Aro rises to his feet and walks down the steps to stand a few feet from Nary. He moves so fluidly that she becomes instantly ashamed of her half-human movements, which seem positively twitchy in comparison. Her list of insecurities has never been as long as it is right now. "How do you like Volterra, Ward?" he asks.

"It's lovely," says Nary. "My rooms are beautiful, and everyone has been so kind to me. And I must thank you for the flowers. I couldn't have asked for a more welcoming reception."

"Marvelous," says Aro. "I am pleased to hear it. Though I must say, the flowers are paltry indeed beside your radiant beauty." He gestures at the posy pinned to her hip and smiles a cat's smile. He turns to Demetri. "Shall I have the news, skilled Demetri?" he asks. Demetri puts his hand in Aro's, and they both take on a dreamlike expression for the few seconds it takes Demetri to share his thoughts. Nary wonders what that must feel like. We'll, she'll probably get her chance to find out.

Aro laughs at whatever it is he saw, and turns to the other two rulers. "Caius," he says, "I'm afraid you must feel rather out of the loop. It seems our best tracker has found more than he expected in this half-human." Marcus smiles remotely, and Caius raises an eyebrow. "We will get to that in a moment," he says. "But first. Ward, would you favor me with your thoughts?"

Nary holds out her hand and is relieved to see it's not trembling, or at least not much. When Aro presses her palm between his hands, she nearly jumps out of her skin, because all of a sudden she's reliving the last eight years. Well, the last eight years minus the first week of her life, which she knows he's already seen. There she is, learning to walk with Demetri's help; playing clapping games; drinking the humans he's brought to their home in Greece, then their home in England. She is learning history and languages from Alessandra, and she is learning the refinements of art and culture from Akashi. All her dreams surface in her mind, one after another, and she is surprised to note how many of them feature the tall black-eyed boy who is presumably her subconscious's flawed representation of Demetri.

Before her very eyes she sees the homeless man in the park and all the people she's drunk since then; she sees Demetri frightening the man in Mongolia to get his blood rushing, and she sees him leaning down to kiss her for the first time. She sees the year and a half in which they are practically joined at the uvula but take care not to go further until they have the blessing of the three ancients, and she sees herself preparing to meet Aro, Caius and Marcus. And there is an accompanying emotion for each memory: pride, enthusiasm, frustration, interest, longing, thirst, love, lust and apprehension. The whole thing takes no more than a minute but Nary is reeling in half that time from the force of her own thoughts. How on earth does Aro keep all those memories straight?

"Easily enough, my dear," says Aro, looking at her. Nary realizes he must have just heard what she thought through her hands. "I simply ignore whatever does not interest me. But I suspect I will be keeping your memories for a long time. What a fascinating life you've led!"

Nary ducks her head bashfully. "I'm sure, compared to you, milord, my life must be very dull. But I thank you for the compliment."

"Well," says Aro, clapping his hands in a businesslike way. "It is time to talk about your future, Ward. Heretofore you have been raised in relative isolation from our coven. After all, we are vampires and have little experience raising children. Not to mention that we've never met one of your breeding before, and could not have known how you might develop. We are relieved to see in you all the virtues we most value, and no sign that your nature might pose a threat to the security and efficacy of our coven."

Without a sound, and practically without appearing to move, Caius and Marcus appear beside Aro. "If you have any skills that might be of service to us," says Caius, "it is high time you begin developing them. There is no room in the coven for dead weight. Tell us, Ward: is there anything that you can do that no other can?"

_Wow_, thinks Nary. _Caius is…scary_. She swallows and says, "I have some skills, milord, and I'm sure if I worked hard at them, they could be useful to you. Shall I show you what I can do?" Caius nods noncommittally and Nary moves in front of him. She can't imagine touching his face to share her thoughts, as she does with Demetri. Instead, she holds out her hand, and Caius rests his fingers on her palm. Then Nary thinks very carefully about the first time she hunted, allowing her memory to linger on the sweetness of the homeless man's blood. Caius's eyes widen and Nessie can hear venom collecting in his mouth. She has planned for this moment, and she hopes that her power impresses Caius, because frankly he scares the shit out of her.

"That seems to be the exact reverse of your gift, Aro," says Caius, touching Aro's palm and (Nary knows) transmitting to him the memory she just shared. "It is surprisingly well-developed for such an infant. I actually smelled the blood. It is more than merely an image: she replicated the experience."

"How divine," breathes Aro, looking at Nary with appreciation. "Even my gift, which I flatter myself is among the most thorough in the world, cannot capture smell. How long have you been able to convey your memories so vividly?"

"It started out with images and sounds only," says Nary, "as I'm sure you remember. It wasn't until I began hunting for myself that the other senses began to manifest. I think the thrill of hunting must have wakened a latent ability. I'm hoping that if I work hard at it, someday I will also be able to transmit the senses of touch and taste. Perhaps, in time, I will be able to touch someone and convince them they are somewhere else entirely."

"Perhaps you will show me your thoughts, Ward," says Marcus. Nary finds Marcus far less intimidating than the other two; he seems so noble and sad that she feels rather sorry for him, and even manages a smile as she holds her hand out. This is part of the plan she, Akashi and Demetri have worked out. If she can prove her value to the three rulers, they will surely allow her and Demetri to marry. Perhaps they will even give her a place among the guard. So she has prepared special visions for each of the three.

To Marcus she now shows something entirely unlike what she showed Caius, because it is not truly remembered. It is a vision she has cobbled together from various sources. She pictures swimming through a deep-sea trench, with nothing around her but water and distant tectonic formations. Of course, she's never actually been to the sea floor, but she's seen pictures and watched documentaries until she's blue in the face. She allows the vision to follow its course, and soon her mind—and Marcus's—is swimming downward into the middle of a shark feeding frenzy. She hovers above the hundreds of sharks and watches their lithe bodies as they compete for a massive, sunken whale.

"That is not a memory," says Marcus, holding his hand out to share the vision with Aro.

"I can make things up, if I focus," says Nary. "I have to work on it, though. Real memories are still more believable. I hope eventually I'll be able to craft visions that are indistinguishable from memory."

"You were close," says Marcus, smiling faintly. "Very close. I've been there, you know, and it was a most singular experience."

"You _have?_" asks Nary, bouncing back and forth between disappointment that she didn't show Marcus anything new and amazement that she's actually talking to a guy who's been to the bottom of the ocean. That is just ridiculously cool.

"It wasn't as interesting as you might think," he says. "I came back up after a few weeks. I find your sharks more engaging than anything I saw down there."

"Thank you, milord!" says Nary, grinning. She can't tell if this is going well or if they're all just being polite. Their praise has her glowing with pride, and she is definitely feeling better about things. Really, they're all just like kindly father-figures—well, maybe Caius is more like a weird uncle or something. But Aro and Marcus are growing on her.

"Have you any visions left for me, Ward?" asks Aro.

Nary smiles and takes his hand. For Aro she has created a very special vision, one that cannot be a memory and can't even be informed by documentaries and photographs. First, she imagines holding up an ancient painted scroll of the type Akashi keeps in her rooms. The scroll depicts three exquisitely beautiful women draped in the _shibori_ silks of Heian Japan. She imagines coming closer and closer to the painting, until she can see the individual fibers of the paper and the picturesque blots of the ink brush. Finally, she and Aro break through the surface of the scroll and find themselves inside the painting, which has come to life in two-dimensional black-and-white strokes. The women turn to look at her in surprise, and one of them offers her a deftly-painted magnolia, which she and Aro can actually smell.

This is by far the hardest vision she's ever shared, and she can't hold it any longer. But Aro doesn't seem to mind. He is looking at her speculatively, his hand still outstretched though hers have returned to her sides.

"Remarkable," he breathes. "I can imagine all sorts of uses for your gift. After all, we Volturi are not merely the guardians of the vampire world; we also aspire to be its artists and musicians, the patrons of its highest forms of culture. And what are you but an artist of the mind?" Nary warms pleasurably at this. She's never thought of herself as an _artist of the mind_, but the phrase has a nice ring to it. She can't believe that just a few minutes ago she was afraid of these nice men. They are all that Demetri has ever said, and more. Okay, so Caius makes her a little uncomfortable, but what does that matter? Aro and Marcus are just _wonderful_. She can see why Demetri loves them so much. Already, she is practically hyperventilating with loyalty to the three.

"We will discuss how best to use you," says Caius. "Have you any other quantifiable skills?"

His question is like a douse of cold water on her spine. Aren't her visions enough? She feels terribly uncertain now, worried that Aro was just being kind and they'll have no place for her after all.

"I believe there may be another skill," Aro offers. "It is one of which I doubt even you are aware, Ward. I have had only an inkling of it; I discerned it when I read your thoughts as a child. It may well be nothing, but I would like to test for it."

Nary bites her lip in consternation, but Aro smiles reassuringly—how could she ever have thought he had a cat's smile? He's a perfect angel!—and turns to a side door behind the thrones.

"Renata!" he calls in a ringing voice. At once the door opens and a small, black-haired woman enters the room. She darts to Aro's side and places one hand against his lower back. "This is Renata," says Aro. The woman inclines her head slightly and Nary curtseys in return. "I will not tell you what Renata does. All I ask is that you walk down to the end of the hall, turn, and walk back to me. Do not stop until you are directly in front of me. Begin."

Nary is confused. She has absolutely no idea what this is meant to accomplish, but of course she obeys at once, walking briskly away and then returning to Aro's side. Renata looks faintly disturbed, but Nary is in the dark.

"Interesting," says Aro. "Now you will do it again, but at a run this time, as fast as you can, without stopping until you are precisely in front of me."

Nary repeats the exercise, still wondering. She feels like a showdog; are they testing her gait or something? She already knows she's not as fast or as strong as a full vampire, although she can usually keep up with Demetri over short distances. When she skids to a stop before Aro this time, he looks very pleased, and Renata looks positively horrified.

"This last time," says Aro, "You will run and attack me. Has Demetri taught you to fight as our kind fights?"

"Well, yes, milord, but—"

"Attack me in whatever way you think will be most effective. Be not uneasy, child; what harm could you possibly do me with four full vampires at arm's length? But I want to see what will happen."

So he's testing her fighting abilities. That must be it. Demetri has never talked about Renata and Nary has no idea what the woman is here for, but they obviously want to see if she would be useful as a fighter. Well, she can certainly try. Although she hates the thought of attacking dear, wonderful Aro.

She doesn't make contact, to her intense relief. She plans to run straight at him and leap at the last moment, then grab him as she passes over his head. Just as Nary's feet are leaving the stone floor, Renata jumps to meet her in midair and tackles her to the ground. Demetri is pushing Renata out of the way and pulling Nary to her feet before a full second has passed, and she can tell by the set of his jaw that he dislikes seeing her attacked. But his discomfort is nothing to Renata's, whose beautiful face is screwed up in an expression of terror and sorrow.

"Forgive me, Master," she is saying over and over again. "I don't understand how this could have happened!"

"Be not cast down, faithful Renata," says Aro, stroking Renata's cheek. She tilts her head toward his touch. "I expected this to happen. You have not failed me." He turns to Nary. "And you have done very well, Ward. We will call for you again, after we have decided what is best to be done. Until then, you are free to make use of all that Volterra has to offer. You will be treated as our honored guest. Meifen will conduct you wherever you wish to go while we confer with Demetri. Farewell, child."

Nary shoots Demetri a nervous look, but he smiles at her. "I'll see you later," he says. "Have fun with Meifen." Nary curtseys to the three ancients and turns to the door she came in by, where a middle-aged Chinese female is waiting for her. She follows the smiling vampire down the long hall. A woman enters the throne room as they leave it.

"Ah, Chelsea," Nary distantly hears Marcus say as she follows Meifen down the corridor. "What has been your success?"

* * *

Demetri stands quietly out of the way while Aro, Caius and Marcus greet Chelsea.

"Fair, I think," says Chelsea. "Marcus, how did it seem to you?"

"The child is most deeply attached to Demetri," he says. "Hardly surprising, considering their history. And she has warmed greatly to both Aro and myself in even the short time we've seen her. For Caius she has less liking—as is usually the case, I'm afraid."

"I have better things to do than to court the affections of strange children," says Caius. "If she is useful to us, very well. Otherwise, what is the point of getting attached?"

"And _that_ is why nobody likes you, Caius," says Aro mockingly. Caius doesn't seem terribly offended.

"There is one thing that should be noted," says Chelsea. "My influence over the child is...limited."

"What, has she a shield in addition to her other talents?" asks Aro incredulously. "Clever girl!"

"I don't think so," says Chelsea. "It feels more like a sort of background noise which impedes my ability to get a full grip on her emotional ties. This happens infrequently but it is not unheard-of. Usually it is caused by a powerful previous attachment—for example, the bond between two intensely devoted mates. You will recall that I had no luck with her parents, either."

"Indeed," says Aro. "In your opinion, Chelsea, should this news give cause for worry?"

"Oh, I think not," she says carelessly. "Although the background noise of which I spoke renders me powerless to weaken or alter her affections, I can strengthen what is already there easily enough. I have already worked on her loyalty to you three: when she entered the room she considered you as frightening strangers. By the time she left she was quite adoring, and all I had to do was enhance her predisposition to think favorably of this coven and of its leaders. Provided she continues to warm to the Volturi, it will be small matter for me to ensure her attachment. And she is well on her way to full commitment already."

"That must be owing to you, Demetri," says Marcus. "You have proven a compelling ambassador of our coven. For this we thank you."

Demetri bows low in pleased acknowledgment. Then, encouraged by the pleasant tenor of the proceedings, he asks a question. "Milords," he says, "I had no idea that the Ward could get by Renata's shield in that way. What on earth just happened?" Renata hides her face in her hands.

"I suspected as much when I read her thoughts years ago," says Aro in an offhand tone. "If you recall, her mother had a mental shield even as a human. I saw in her infantile memories that the Ward communicated with her mother in the same way she communicates with us. From this I divined that she has not one but two powers: the ability to transmit thought through touch, and the ability to penetrate mental shields. Two gifts in one exquisite being. I have never met her like."

"She is perfection incarnate," says Demetri passionately.

"Well, Demetri," says Marcus, peering closely at Demetri. "Touching on the subject of the Ward's commitments, have you anything in particular to say to us?" The three ancients look at him expectantly. He'd hoped he would have more time to prepare for this moment, but it seems Marcus is giving him his opening.

"Milords," he says, bowing to each of them in turn, "I'm sure you can divine that when I first discovered the Ward, I had no thought in my head but to see to her safety, and then to her upbringing. Lovely as she was in childhood, I yet failed to anticipate how gloriously she would blossom. She is perfectly endowed with every quality I admire; she is in every way fitted to my inmost desires. Should I search the earth for centuries more, I would not find a woman who delighted me even a hundredth as much as the Ward. In short, milords, I have fallen in love with her. And she has assured me that my feelings are warmly reciprocated." His voice doesn't shake, but Demetri has never felt so anxious. It's a good thing he already knows what he's going to say. So does Aro, for that matter, and Aro has given no sign that he disapproves. That is reassuring.

"We have not acted on our mutual desire to become mates only because she is still under your protection and we would not give offense. But I implore you now: will you consent to give the Ward to me in marriage, to be my wife? My heart is in her hands, and my future happiness is now in yours." Demetri concludes his speech with a deep bow. He doesn't even dare look up until Marcus speaks.

"She's definitely his mate," says Marcus in hollow tones to his co-rulers. "He's completely besotted with her."

"I find it all most distasteful," says Caius with a grimace.

"That is because _you_ still have a wife," snaps Marcus. For a moment there is something very old and very ugly in his voice, but when he goes on he is unruffled once more. "The Ward is harder to read. There seems to be some sort of interference."

_Interference?_ Demetri's heart lurches. "Are you sure, milord?" he asks. This thought has never even entered into his darkest fears. Nary does love him, doesn't she? She's said it so many times! And he can easily sense her physical attraction to him. She must love him. She _must!_ Then he thinks about what Chelsea just said and is comforted. If Nary's feelings for Demetri are strong enough to throw off Chelsea's power, he has nothing at all to fear. Only a deeply powerful bond can thwart Chelsea.

"I suspect this interference is but a result of her breeding," says Marcus. "After all, she is half-human, and humans can be _so_ capricious. Besides, she is still young. The conflict I am sensing is likely a result of her youth."

"We will consider your proposal," says Caius with a leer. "Farewell, Demetri."

Demetri bows again to the three, nods his head to the others, and dashes off in pursuit of Nary.

* * *

**Ahh, our first glimpse of Volterra. The Volterra of the books was a little...underdeveloped for my needs, so there will be some tedious establishing narration along the way. Hooray! You know how I love being tedious ;)**

**As always, thank you to my very encouraging reviewers. You guys make it considerably easier to keep to a posting schedule, and I am extremely grateful for your feedback.**


	13. Upheaval

Jacob is dead on his feet. Luckily, he has four of them at the moment, but that won't be much help if he passes out while trying to jump a gorge or something.

_I have to stop_, he thinks to Leah.

_It's about fucking time_, she thinks back, and although she's slept more recently than him, he can hear the exhaustion in her mind. He should be more careful. He doesn't want to wear Leah out too quickly. That will only impede their search.

Jake sprints toward the place where the search party has agreed to make camp. Usually, they find a campsite by pointing randomly at a map. It doesn't really matter where they meet up; they are five of the most dangerous creatures on planet earth. Nothing and no one can touch them, whether they shelter in a remote cave or on an exposed plain.

As soon as he reaches the site, he relaxes out of his phase. When he began phasing, back when he was a normal human boy living on the Quileute reservation in Washington, US of A, people noticed how easily he took to it. Being a werewolf—well, it's built into his genes. He picked it up quickly, even learned to enjoy it sometimes.

Compared to today, that boy was a bumbling lack-wit with overripe bananas for limbs. Jake has never been stronger, never been faster, never phased more smoothly or seen more clearly. His nose is so sharp he can smell a leech a thousand paces downwind. He can outrun Emmett Cullen, then double back and outrun him again. Amazingly, he's grown another inch in the last year, and he weighs as much as a fat man on a Segway. His muscles have muscles. His circulatory system could power a sedan.

Jacob Black is the best wolf shape-shifter in the history of wolf shape-shifting. No leech stands a chance against him. His secret to wolfy success is really very simple: instead of a heart, he has a glowing furnace of white-hot rage. White-hot rage is a much more effective energy source than hearts, that's for damn sure.

Right now, he's been up for fifty-one hours straight. He's only eaten once in all that time, but he won't eat again until Kate or one of the Cullens gets to the campsite. They'll bring the corpse of whatever animal they've just drained and cook it while Jake and Leah sleep. It's a highly efficient system. It saves Jake and Leah having to take time out of their search to go grocery shopping. Leah complains about never having anything to eat but meat, but Jake couldn't care less. He eats not because food tastes good but because without sustenance he won't be able to keep looking for Nessie's killers. He'd eat rocks if he thought it would make him run faster.

Leah tells him his priorities are way out of whack. Well, of course Leah says that. It wasn't her imprint that was murdered eight years ago. But he doesn't object when she takes a few hours to buy fruit and bread and other human staples to bring back to camp. He never eats any of it, but he won't prevent her from eating it. Whatever makes her happy. Because if she's happy, she'll keep helping, and Jake needs all the help he can get.

The rest of the search party is still out there in the Amazon jungle. Jake pulls a lighter out of a small pouch he keeps tied to his left leg and starts a fire. That'll help the others find him faster, and when they reach him they can start cooking their kill right away. With luck, he'll be rested and fed in no more than a few hours, ready for the next two-day stretch of searching.

Jake pulls on his one pair of shorts, lies down under a monkey puzzle tree and goes to sleep. Well, he goes to "sleep", anyway. Ever since graduating to ultra-wolf, his sleep cycles have been kind of odd. Leah is still a regular werewolf; she needs to sleep at least once a day, and she needs to eat frequently and take breaks every few hours. Jake can get away with much less; he suspects it's because he's eaten nothing but meat in years. That probably powers the whole ultra-wolf thing. These days, when he sleeps he's still partly awake, like a dog. Even if he's sleeping in human form, he can be on his paws within a nanosecond of hearing a noise. Once he almost beheaded Rosalie when she tried to shake him awake. The instant her hand touched his skin, he was exploding into wolf-form. He had her pinned to the ground before she even realized what was happening.

Now they just wake him up by throwing rocks at him. It's safer for everyone that way.

* * *

Nary is soaking in a tub the size of a small swimming pool, with two female attendants washing her body and buffing her skin and conditioning her hair. She bathes incessantly in Volterra, because Volterra is full of vampires who don't emit body odor, and she feels self-conscious. But this is a particularly special bath. Tonight she will be officially introduced to the Volturi guard. She's been living in Volterra for a week and a half now, and she's starting to get used to all the pomp and circumstance, but she's as nervous now as she was when she arrived. Aro and Marcus seem to like her, as do Heidi and Felix and the one or two other Volturi she's met, but she's about to meet them _all_. At once. With all her half-human imperfections.

"Make sure you get under the nails, Devi," she says fretfully.

"Don't worry, Ward!" laughs Devi. "I promise you, there is not a single molecule of dirt anywhere on your body. Not even under your nails."

They have been assigned to help Nary prepare for her presentation tonight. Devi is the small Indian woman with enormous orblike eyes; Meifen is the middle-aged Chinese woman. They are not members of the Guard, but technically neither are most of the other inhabitants of Volterra, which is populated with the attendants and secretaries and accountants and interior decorators and servants who keep the place running. All possess some sort of power that suits them to domestic service. And they are all utterly devoted to the three ancients.

Nary rises from her bath and is gently patted dry by Meifen. Then Devi massages fragrant lotion into every inch of Nary's exposed skin. The women dress Nary in clothes that feel as lovely as they look. Tonight's event will require formal dress, and Nary will be dressed all in red to signify her loyalty to the Volturi. Her gown is a rust-colored Fortuny Delphos, modest in cut but clinging to her like water, every sculptural detail of her body revealed by the sleek silk. No one consulted her on the gown, but she likes it. It reminds her of Demetri's homeland.

As soon as she is dressed, Devi drapes a white linen towel around her shoulders and goes to work on her makeup while Meifen begins to plait and twist her heavy locks into a Grecian updo.

When they are finished, Nary has never looked more beautiful. She is a column of red, her pale arms gleaming against the shining pleated silk of her gown. She looks like she was born here in Volterra. She looks like she belongs.

"Oh, I hope they like me," she says, knitting her brow.

"They will, they will," says Devi. "Just smile and be yourself. You already know a lot of the Volturi. And Aro seems to have taken quite a shine to you, if what I hear is to be believed. Besides, no one will dare think ill of you. Who would want to anger Demetri?" The two attendants laugh at the very thought of it, and Nary has to admit they have a point. She would love Demetri even if he had a silly power, or no power at all, but the fact that his power would enable him to hunt down anyone who offended him—or, by extension, her—well, it's comforting to know her boyfriend is so high up on the Volturi ladder, that's all.

When she emerges from her bathroom, Demetri is waiting for her in her bed chamber. He does a double-take when he sees her.

"And here I thought you couldn't be any lovelier," he murmurs, pulling her close and kissing her neck. "I have a surprise for you. Two surprises, actually. Which would you like first, the big one or the little one?"

"Little," says Nary.

"Close your eyes," says Demetri. Nary feels a little rush of air from Demetri's movements, and then suddenly there is a cold weight around her neck. "Open," he says.

Nary looks down and nearly chokes. Around her neck is a gigantic diamond set in gold, surrounded by garnets and onyx. The thing weighs a ton, and she can tell from the shape that it is very old.

"Okay, Nary," says Demetri pleasantly. "History quiz: how old is this necklace, assuming that its design hasn't changed since it was made?"

"Well," says Nary uncertainly, "The cut of the stone would indicate it is from the seventeenth century, or the early eighteenth at the latest. The—"

"Why is that?" Demetri interrupts. "What sort of cut is it?"

"Peruzzi," says Nary. "One of the first brilliant cuts ever invented."

"Right you are!" says Demetri proudly. "This diamond once belonged to the English crown jewels, but Aro acquired it some time back and had it set in this necklace."

"Good heavens!" breathes Nary. "And he's letting me wear it?"

"It seemed appropriate. Aro is quite pleased with you, you know. He is already making plans for you. Even if we hadn't found you as a baby, the three ancients would have been eager to acquire your allegiance. I think they are determined that you feel as one of the coven."

"That's sweet," says Nary happily. "I think they're just wonderful." Nary would do just about _anything_ for the three ancients. Even Caius has ceased to frighten her—or at least, even if he still frightens her, she now very firmly believes that he must have his reasons and she would never question his stern manner. The other two she regards as little less than angels.

"Are you ready for your second present?" Demetri asks, and his voice is suddenly low and tender. Nary nods, smiling. Quicker than her eyes can follow, Demetri's hand vanishes into his breast pocket and reappears. Before Nary can see what he holds, he has taken her right hand and slipped something onto the third finger. Something heavy and cool, something that warms to her body heat.

Nary looks down at her hand and screeches.

"Oh, '_Metri!_" she exclaims, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately. "Did they really say it's all right?"

Demetri laughs into their kiss and slides his hands up her body to rest against her ribs, just grazing the sides of her breasts. "Nereid, Ward of the Volturi," he says, and his voice is brimming with love and joy. "Will you be my wife?"

"Demetri, tracker of the Volturi," Nary says, "It's about time!"

* * *

The evening begins well. Nary is presented and formally welcomed into the coven by the three ancients. Then she greets each member of the Volturi guard by name, and nods courteously to the rest of the hundred-plus Volterra citizens in attendance. Most of the coven is perfectly nice to her. Felix is openly flirtatious, as is Heidi. But Nary's mind is full of Demetri and she keeps looking down at the third finger of her right hand.

"Gold," says Demetri in her ear the tenth time in a row that she does this. She spins around to look at him and grins in anticipation. "Fifteenth century BCE. Minoan. The figure engraved on the head of the ring is…?"

"A running bull," answers Nary confidently. Minoan history is one of her favorite subjects. Partly this is for philosophical reasons: she admires the Minoans for their love of art and culture and their dislike of conflict. Partly it is personal. After all, the Minoans were Demetri's ancestors on the island of Crete.

"Well done," says Demetri. "Beside the bull is…?"

"It looks like a…a scrapey gouge?" Nary guesses. Demetri bursts out laughing.

"This ring was crafted in antiquity, my love!" he says. "It is the oldest thing in this room, older even than the three ancients. You'll have to forgive it for being a little indistinct in places."

"I love my ring," she says, "gouges and all. What is that, a lightning rod?"

"Beside the bull are two figures, a man and a woman," he says. "Although I'm really only guessing at their genders."

"No," says Nary, contemplating her ring, "I guess I can see how those might be breasts. And that might be a cock." Demetri buries his face in her neck to hide his laughter.

Near the culmination of the festivities, she is summoned to stand with Aro, Marcus, Caius and Demetri at the front of the hall. Aro shares the engagement of Demetri and Nary and announces that she will be known no longer as the Ward. Her name will henceforth be Nereid of the Volturi. Many members of the coven clap and cheer at this news. And then a door is opened and a lesser guard leads a large group of humans into the room.

The effect on the vampires is instantaneous. Nary can hear venom pooling in a hundred and fifty hungry mouths. The humans smell so delicious that even she must swallow back saliva. They are dressed as formally as the vampires. They seem excited, pointing around the room and jabbering to each other. Then Heidi leads three of the humans to the three ancients. The humans bow. One of them, obviously a spokesperson of some sort, begins to speak to Aro in a pompous voice.

As one, Aro, Marcus and Caius reach out and grip the humans by their wrists. After a moment, the humans begin to struggle fruitlessly. The watching group of humans falls silent. They watch in dawning horror as the three ancients lean forward and wrap their fingers around three supple throats.

As soon as those humans begin to scream and writhe in pain, the rest do too. In moments, the hall is a madhouse. The humans have nowhere to run and their panic is palpable. Nary has never seen such bedlam. Demetri's bloodlust when hunting with Nary is comparatively tame. The screams and wails of the humans wrench Nary's heart and before she knows what she's doing, tears are streaming down her face and she is running for the door. This is terrible. What are they _doing?_ How can they delight in such terror? It is one thing to kill a homeless man quickly and mercifully, but the Volturi are not being merciful at all, they are playing with their food. Many of them are using powers on their prey. The screams of Jane's victim echo through the stone chamber, louder than all the others, and all Nary wants is to get away.

"Aren't you thirsty?" a cold voice asks. Nary looks up to see Aro standing in her way.

"No, I…I'm very tired," she says meekly, hand flying self-consciously to her necklace.

"This feast does you honor," says Aro. "Would you insult us by spurning it?" Nary looks about her frantically, hoping for a friendly face to come rescue her. But no one is paying attention, not even Demetri. They are all feasting on the terrified humans in the blood-stained evening clothes. None of the vampires have a single drop on them.

"I would not wish to offend you," says Nary uncertainly. "Please, Aro, I'm sorry, I am merely tired—"

"You may be excused," says Aro, "_after_ you have partaken of the feast. I will not ask you again."

And so Nary looks around and spots an old man who is huddled in a corner. The man's lips are moving silently; she would swear he is praying. Slowly she walks toward him. He looks up at her with hope and fear equally blazoned across his face. Nary crouches before him and takes his hand in hers.

_I'm so sorry_, she thinks. The man's eyes widen but he does not attempt to pull away. He must know how little use it would be to try.

"I have a wife," he says imploringly. "We have children, two girls, don't make them orphans, please, they've already killed Mary!" The name of the man's wife slices through Nary's resolve and it is all she can do to keep going. "Our first grandchild was born four months ago! Please, let me see my grandson one last time, his name is Ben, _please_—"

_I won't hurt you_, she thinks. _I'll make it fast. I'm so sorry_.

She tries to send him reassuring, peaceful thoughts, but he screams anyway. Nary is used to her food struggling a little, but never with such abject, hopeless terror. Never has a victim seemed so pathetic; she has a crazy desire to protect this man, as if he were a helpless bird fallen from its nest. She doesn't even taste the blood. She looks up as she finishes and sees Aro standing watching her from across the hall, an approving smile on his face. He nods slightly and Nary flees the feeding frenzy, stumbling through the maze of corridors until she reaches her own room.

She rushes into the bathroom and vomits into the tub, ruby-red and bile. She can still hear the man's screams. The memory of Aro's cold smile cuts cleanly through her flourishing adoration of the ancient.

She was wrong, before.

Caius isn't the one she should be afraid of.

* * *

**Thank you for reading and thank you to my wonderful reviewers. Till next time!**


	14. Ceremony

Jake is running across a plain at about a hundred and twenty miles per hour. Kate is somewhere in his rearview mirror and shrinking fast. There is a leech nearby; they can both smell him.

Jake's whole life now revolves around finding the next leech. He's like some pathetic gambler who can't stop playing the slots, sure that the _next_ one will put him back where he started, the _next_ one. Except that instead of cellulite and leisure pants, he's got three hundred pounds of chiseled muscle, razor sharp teeth and claws, and the biting force of your average crocodile. Those differences aside, he's really no different from any other addict. He lives and breathes for that next kill; unless he's running down a fleeing leech, he doesn't feel alive at all.

He catches a glint of sandy-yellow hair vanishing into a treeline. The leech is desperate, trying to take cover in this old pioneer windbreak. Jake puts on an extra burst of speed that propels him into the trees fast enough to take out a couple full-size branches. He follows the scent of the leech until suddenly it disappears, right in the middle of a small clearing. Jake has the wherewithal to look up just as the yellow-haired leech is dropping onto him. After this it is almost painfully easy to go into a roll and pin the leech under his massive paws. He waits a few minutes for Kate to show up so that they can start the interrogation. While the leech struggles vainly under his paws, he thinks a message to Leah, who will bring the others straight to him.

"Nice one, Jake," says Kate, leaping in front of them. "Looks like we've made a friend." Jake releases the leech, who predictably tries to run for it, but he doesn't make it ten yards before Kate has gotten a finger on him. From there on, it's all downhill work: she gives the leech a low-level electrical shock that pretty effectively communicates their seriousness. While he is still reeling from that, Kate forces his arms behind his back. "Move a single millimeter," she says quietly in his ear, "And I'll stop being so gentle."

"Why don't you quit hiding behind your little party trick and fight me like a woman?" taunts the man, earning himself a more substantial shock.

"You know what?" Kate says to the cringing leech, "I don't care what Carlisle says, I'm going to—"

"Carlisle?" the leech breaks in. "Carlisle Cullen?"

"What's it to you?" she asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Hey," he says, "Are you Rosalie?"

"No. I'm not."

"Better and better," the man says. "So, what, did he get another blonde?"

"Ex_cuse_ me?" Kate says indignantly, shocking him again. The man grunts and nearly falls over.

"No offense," he says, "It's your eyes. They're so…"

The features narrow to mere slits. "What about them?"

"Beautiful," he says, grinning cheekily. She shocks him again and he cringes in pain. "Yellow," he gasps. "I've never known anyone but the Cullens to drink animal blood. I assumed you were with them."

"How do you know Carlisle?" she asks. "Don't bother lying. The others will be here soon, and they don't like liars any more than I do." She shocks him again for emphasis.

"I've known him for a long time," the man says, still groaning in pain. "My name's Garrett. Ask Carlisle. He knows me." There is a pause, and then he says, "He's not in trouble, is he?"

"No," says Kate.

"If it's not too much to ask," Garrett says, "why are you accosting innocent, handsome, available strangers? Or is it just my lucky day?"

"You want me to hurt you some more?" Kate says, tightening her hand around his wrist.

"Only if you want to," Garrett says, raising his eyebrows. She rolls her eyes, but she doesn't electrocute him. "So, how can I help you?" he asks.

"We need information," says Kate. "We're looking for someone."

"I know a lot of someones," says Garrett. "Who are you looking for?"

"We don't know," she admits, sighing.

"I'm going to need a little more to go on than that," Garrett points out. "What's going on here? What happened?"

Kate looks at Jake, who shakes his furry head.

_Almost there_, Leah announces in his brain. There is an almighty rustling from their left and then Leah, Eleazar, Rosalie and Emmett break through, racing toward them.

"Good lord," Garrett mutters. "How many of these mutts are there?"

"These _mutts_," Kate says severely, "Are about thirty seconds from tearing you a new one, and I for one will not lift a finger to stop them. If you can't say anything helpful, shut up."

"Sorry."

Garrett catches sight of the other vampires. "Ahh," he says enthusiastically. "_You_ must be Rosalie. And…Emmett? As I recall, Edward is a lot shrimpier than that."

"Who is this?" Rosalie asks.

"Garrett, apparently," says Kate. "He says he knows Carlisle."

Rosalie and Emmett look blank. "Never heard of him," says Rosalie.

"He never talks about me?" says Garrett, managing to sound hurt and teasing at once. "And here I thought we were such good friends!"

"Will you just call Carlisle and ask him?" says Kate impatiently. "This nerd refuses to shut up and I want to get the ball rolling."

Emmett pulls out his cell phone and conducts a high-speed conversation with Carlisle. When he hangs up, he shrugs. "Checks out," he says. "Carlisle says we can trust him."

"Wonderful," says Kate, releasing Garrett's arms.

"Aw, you didn't have to let go," he says playfully. She rolls her eyes, but without real feeling.

Jake unphases and stands up. Most of the vampires look away discreetly while he pulls on his pants, but Garrett does a double-take.

"Okay, I did _not_ expect that," he says. "A shape-shifter? Really? Do you guys have a mermaid hidden somewhere, too?" Kate reaches out lazily and lets a crackle of electricity frizzle against his skin. To his credit, Garrett resists the urge to jump away. "Okay, okay, forgive me," he says, bowing ironically. "So, what's new with the Cullens?"

"Edward got married," Jake says bluntly. Garrett looks delighted. "He married a girl while she was still human." Garrett looks quizzical, then delighted again. "The girl became pregnant and gave birth to a baby girl." Garrett looks delighted, then dubious.

"Can that even—"

"Yes, it can happen," says Kate. "Shut up and listen."

"Before the baby was a week old," says Jake, "her parents took her for a boat ride alone in a sheltered bay not ten miles from their home, protected by water on one side and by allies on the other." Garrett begins to lose his jesting look as he realizes where this is going. "By the time we reached them, a few hours later, the boat was a floating cinder, Edward and Bella were white ash, and Nessie—the baby—was gone. We searched for her for days, and when we failed to find her Carlisle got help from the Volturi tracker, who told us she was dead."

"Good god," Garrett breathes, and there is no laughter in his face now. "But Edward was a mind-reader!"

"And Bella was, by that time, a vampire with exceptional self-control and newborn strength," says Rosalie. "And we still have no idea who did it. We've been searching for the murderer for years now, and we're no closer to finding a lead than we were when we started."

"So you're stopping every vampire you come across?"

"More than stopping," says Jake threateningly. Garrett smiles nervously.

"Well," he says, "I don't have any particular skills, but maybe I can still help. I only met Edward once but I…well, I'm sorry he's dead."

"We've been thinking it must have been someone with a power that could offset Edward's mind-reading," says Kate. "Have you ever met anyone like that? Maybe someone with a mental shield?"

"I haven't met anyone with a mental shield," says Garrett thoughtfully. "They're pretty rare, from what I've heard. The only one I even know about is Renata of the Volturi, and she only leaves Aro's side when water runs uphill."

"Well, what about some other power?" says Jake impatiently. "Maybe you've met a leech with, I don't know, the ability to wipe their minds blank. Something. Anything."

Jake is grimly satisfied at the offended look that crosses Garrett's face when he uses the slur _leech_. Especially since Garrett is now surrounded by four vampires, one wolf, and a scary-huge half-naked Quileute with a short temper.

"I'm sorry," says Garrett. "I have no idea. It could have been anyone, and I've never heard of anyone who had it out for the Cullen coven. Carlisle has many friends and no enemies. The Volturi are on very good terms with him, and no one would want to anger them."

"Well, obviously _someone_ did it," snaps Rosalie. "Vampires don't just spontaneously combust."

"True, true," says Garrett thoughtfully. "But even if you find someone who doesn't like your family, how are you going to know for sure they did it?"

"Well, we figured we'd just hurt the truth out of them," says Jake.

"Yes," says Garrett scathingly, "because torture has _such_ a high success rate. Don't you have anything more reliable?"

"Nope," says Jake. "Hey, it got you talking."

"Yeah," says Garrett, looking sidelong at Kate, "the _pain_ was what made me talk."

"Isn't there anything you can think of?" Kate asks.

"As a matter of fact, there is," says Garrett. "A friend of mine with the power to sense if he's being lied to. It strikes me you could use someone like that."

"Can you reach him?" says Jake. Garrett looks him over.

"Eventually," he says. "I can leave him a message. But he's a nomad; who knows when he'll receive it?"

"That doesn't matter," says Rosalie urgently. "We would really love to talk to him. Can you get him to meet us?"

"I will," says Garrett. "Listen." He is looking at Kate. "Is there anything else I can do? I mean it when I say Carlisle and I go way back. He's the first vampire I ever met and my oldest friend. I could help you."

"We don't need help from murderers," snarls Jake, glaring into Garrett's dark red eyes.

"_I'm_ not a mur—oh," he says. "I get it. Because of all the people I eat."

Kate folds her arms and looks at Garrett pointedly. "Maybe animal blood would make you more civilized," she says, "if such a thing is possible. You should give it a try."

"I could be persuaded," says Garrett, grinning hopefully. Kate's lip twitches, but she shakes her head.

"Ask them," she says. "It's their call. I'm just a friend of the family."

Rosalie and Emmett look at Jake questioningly. He has no idea how he became the leader of this futile mission. He truly gives zero shits about some gangly leech who wants to get his jollies with the icy blonde.

"Get in touch with the lie-detector. If you can get him to talk to us, we'll think about it."

"Excellent!" says Garrett. "Oh, when I do find them…how shall I let you know?" He looks hopefully at Kate, who looks at Emmett.

"You'll call me," says Emmett with a cheeky grin. Garrett's face falls.

"Well, I guess I'll be on my way," he says. "Can I at least know your name, beautiful?" He smiles winningly at Kate.

"You get us a meeting with your friends," she says pointedly, "and I'll think about it." Garrett grins confidently and sweeps into a low bow. "Oh," she adds. "And I should mention that I _really_ don't like red eyes."

Garrett stops grinning.

* * *

Today is the first day of the rest of Nary's life.

Everyone is looking at her. She can feel Aro's eyes burning a hole in the side of her head. On the other side, Felix and Heidi are dressed to the nines, waiting for her to speak.

She looks up into Demetri's gorgeous crimson eyes, brimming with love and joy. She twists his engagement ring on her finger.

"I do," she whispers. The vaulted hall full of vampires erupts in cheers. Even the ancients' wives are here, smiling serenely from behind their husbands. Aro has made it very clear that he fully endorses a match between Demetri and Nary. And hasn't Nary longed for this day for two years? Ever since he first kissed her on that hunting trip in Mongolia, in fact, Demetri has been the only one for her.

If only he didn't have to be so very much _Aro's_ man.

Demetri is pulling her into his arms. She feels the golf-ball-sized diamond necklace digging into her sternum. It was her wedding gift from Aro, and while she likes the distinction it gives her in the eyes of those less-favored by the Volturi, she doesn't like how goddamn bulky it is.

"I love you, Nary," Demetri says, and Nary feels all her uncertainties drifting away. This is Demetri, her husband, her mate for all time. Who cares if Volterra makes her tense and she's been having bizarre dreams and she wakes in a cold sweat every night to the memory of an old man begging for his life? She can figure all that stuff out later.

"I love you, 'Metri," she says, and then they are kissing and white flower petals are floating down around them in the slanting light from the glass dome above them. Everything is beautiful, planned to perfection. And even if they got married in a pigsty it still would have been perfect, because they are together.

"All right, you two," says Heidi, laughing. "You have exactly twenty-three minutes to thank your wedding guests, and then you can get the hell out of here. Demetri's waited a thousand years for this, let's not make him wait any longer." There is a chorus of ribald laughter and Demetri laughs along good-naturedly. Nary blushes furiously. Volterra is such a small, close-knit society that everyone here knows she's a virgin, and it's hardly a secret that Demetri is, well…_not_. She doesn't mind that, of course. The guy was around when the Crusades were trending; of course he's been around the block. But it does make her feel awfully conspicuous: everyone knows that relations between mates are a much bigger deal than the casual affairs Demetri has had before. This will be as big a night for him as it is for her. She is incredibly excited, but she sort of can't wait till all this is over and people can stop making veiled references to the state of her hymen.

"Have fun, you two lovebirds," says Felix, clapping Demetri on the back. He pulls Nary into a crushing hug. "Little miss, I first met you when you were just a smidgen no bigger than my hand," he says in a low voice. "Demetri adored you then, and he adores you now. As he should." Nary hugs Felix back. He's always been rather sweet to her.

Aro doesn't go in for hugs. Instead he takes Nary's hand in what might look to an outsider like a fatherly handshake, although Nary feels all her pre-wedding thoughts slipping from her mind to his. Well, now he knows how uncomfortable she's felt at Volterra since her initiation party. Not that he couldn't guess from her body language.

"Our ways take some getting used to," says Aro mildly. "Once you return from your honeymoon, you will begin to settle in, of that I am certain."

"Yes, milord," says Nary, dipping into a curtsey. "Thank you for my wedding gift. And thank you so much for your kind reception. I already feel as if I belong here."

Aro's eyes narrow. "As I said before," he says, "you will settle in soon enough." Somehow from Aro the words sound more like a threat than a welcome. He turns away and sweeps out of the room. After speaking to her briefly, Caius, Marcus and the wives each follow after him.

Twenty-three minutes later, Heidi is hustling the newlyweds out to the garage which holds Demetri's Ferrari. She kisses Demetri and Nary each on the lips, and then vanishes back into the labyrinth that is Volterra. And they are alone.

Demetri grins at Nary and reaches for her, but she breaks off their kiss before it can get too far. She is a ball of nerves, and she is obsessively worrying that the birth control Dr. Schaal gave her will make her smell wrong to Demetri, and she really needs to shake off all the grand ritualism of Volterra or else she's not going to enjoy this at all. So after a final chaste kiss on her nose, Demetri drives them out of the city.

* * *

It is only an hour later that Demetri is pulling the car up to a villa in a wonderfully empty stretch of countryside. He opens the door for Nary before she's even unstrapped her seatbelt. She looks so lovely standing there in the coppery light of the setting sun. She is still in her wedding dress, every stitch of which was hand-sewn by the finest couturieres in Volterra. It skims over her body in a way that makes his throat catch.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against her throat. Her hands, warm and soft, slide up his shoulders and tangle in his long hair. He lets the tips of his fingers graze the fabric of her dress, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin silk. Her heart is racing; is it from nerves or excitement? The latter, he hopes, leading her by the hand into the low stucco building.

This is the happiest moment of his life.

Slowly, agonizingly, he unhooks the pearl buttons that run down the spine of her dress. She smells like flowers and she smells like warm skin and, oh lord, she smells turned on. Demetri has to exert all his self-control not to rip her dress to pieces. She might want to keep it for sentimental reasons.

As soon as the last button is undone, the weight of the slinky material pulls it to pool at her feet, and suddenly self-control is a lot harder for Demitri to come by. Under her gown she is wearing some sort of strappy white lace contraption, something that presses tantalizingly against her soft flesh. He has to keep his hands to himself for a moment, lest he lose control entirely.

But that doesn't seem to be what Nary has in mind, because as soon as he steps away she closes the distance, pulls his face to hers for a kiss and then wraps her legs up around his waist. And his resolve is officially broken: Demetri exultantly inhales her intoxicating scent, sliding his hands under her bottom, carrying her to the bed in the middle of the room. When he lays her down she keeps her legs around him as if she can't get close enough. Demetri's hands roam freely over her perfect form, finally allowed to stake their claim.

"You're so beautiful," he says again, licking his way down her breasts and her ribcage and her stomach and then between her legs. She is warm and slippery and enticing against his mouth; he could taste her all day. When he rubs his fingers over her most intimate places, she arches her back and begins to pant, and the sight of her obvious pleasure drives him mad. He slides a finger inside her, and then another, and then he begins licking and sucking in earnest. After several long and glorious minutes he feels the minute contractions of her smooth vaginal muscles around his fingers. Then she cries out his name and heaves half off the bed.

She is so flawlessly lovely. Demetri could spend years pleasuring her and never ask for anything more than the sight and sound and scent of her ecstasy. But she obviously has other plans.

Nary is not as careful of Demetri's wedding-clothes as he was with hers: she tears his waistcoat and pops all the buttons off his shirt in her haste to get him undressed. He kicks off his pants and positions himself over her.

"Are you sure you're ready, my love?" he asks her for the last time.

"Demetri," she says, "I'm so ready I can't stand it. Please, please, _please_ make love to me. I want you so badly."

"I am yours, my love," he says, and then he is inside her.

Okay, he was wrong, _this_ is the best moment of his life by far.

A thousand years of sex with unearthly beautiful vampires can't even approach the pure, existential joy of being inside the love of his life. She's hot and tight and she makes such enchanting noises as he begins to move with increasing need. They are made for each other in every respect.

The sudden scent of her blood from where they are joined fills Demetri's nostrils and sends him into near-frenzy. All his senses are alight. His bride is writhing magnificently beneath him, her lips moving silently, her razor-sharp nails digging into his back and urging him to thrust faster and harder.

And then he can't possibly hold out any longer, and with a yell Demetri comes into his blushing bride. She clings to him shakily and pulls him closer to her. He collapses onto her perspiring breast and gathers her into his arms. Her heart is buzzing like a hummingbird.

Demetri's heart is silent and still, but it overflows with love.

"I hope the blood isn't—" Nary begins to say, but a massive yawn cuts through her next words. Already Demetri could go again, but his bride cannot. She is exhausted.

"Go to sleep, adored one," he says quietly, stroking the sides of her face with his fingers. Her eyelids flutter closed. He begins to pull out of her, but she grabs his arms.

"Stay inside me, please?" she murmurs, already halfway to dreamland.

Nothing could make Demetri happier than to comply.

* * *

**I have to admit I almost cut out the raunchy bits just before posting this. Not because I think it is an unacceptable passage in this otherwise Nobel-worthy tome (*sarcasm hand raised*), but just because I have had a shitty week and everything I do disgusts me. I am leaving it in because I am assuming I'll feel better eventually, and will go back to liking it for the harmless smut it is.**

**Let me know what you think. I hope y'all are having a splendid summer or winter, depending on where you live. Thanks for reading.**


	15. Conscience

Jacob can check one more continent off his list. As a kid growing up in Bumblefuck, WA he always dreamed of seeing the world. Well, now he's seeing it. North America, South America, Europe. Portugal, to be specific. Jacob doesn't know Portuguese and doesn't need to know Portuguese and doesn't really give a shit about this stupid country that's tacked onto Spain like an afterthought. He's here to meet the shady friends of that shady leech, Garrett. Funny thing is, if he'd come here ten years ago he would have had a great time. It's sunny here. Nothing like Forks.

Nessie would have loved it, too. She thrived in sunshine.

_Are we close?_ asks Leah in his head. _I'm starving_.

_We'll get there when we get there_, Jake answers. They are meeting Garrett and his two nomad friends in Guadiana Valley National Park.

Ten minutes later, Jake and the rest of the search party are inside the borders of the park, following an easy trail straight to three red-eyed leeches—wait, scratch that. Jake sticks his nose right up in Garrett's face and stares.

_Whoa_, thinks Leah. _He actually did it_.

_Will wonders never cease?_ thinks Jake ironically, dropping his phase and springing to his human feet. He pulls a pair of shorts from the pouch tied to his leg and pulls them on.

"The new look suits you," Kate says to Garrett. "I'm surprised you followed through."

Garrett winks one yellow eye at Kate. "I'm just full of surprises," he says, giving her the sort of look that would speak volumes in any red-light district in the world. Jake leans away and pantomimes vomiting.

"Real mature, Jake," says Rosalie under her breath. Then, louder, "When do we get to meet your friends, Garrett?"

Garrett snaps his attention back to the group. "Guys, these are my old friends Charles and Makenna." A tall blond leech and his short black-haired mate both nod. "Charles and Makenna, meet Rosalie Hale, Emmett Cullen, Eleazar Denali, Kate Denali, Jacob Black, and Leah Clearwater."

"We have heard your story from Garrett," says Charles, "And we sympathize most deeply with you. Please accept our condolences. But before we go further, we would like to hear your tale directly from you. Who leads this search party?"

Jake feels five pairs of eyes turn to look at him and shrugs. "I guess that would be me," he says.

"Jacob," says Charles. "I have a power that could prove instrumental in your search, but I have not yet decided whether I should lend you my aid. Please summarize what has happened and what you aim to do."

"Okay," he says. "Here's the deal. Edward Cullen—that's Rosalie and Emmett's brother—married a girl named Bella Swan, knocked her up on their honeymoon. She popped out a baby girl, almost died in childbirth, and was changed to save her life. When she came to after the transformation, she met the baby, everyone was happy. A week after the baby was born, Bella and Edward took her out boating. We found the boat torched a few hours after they left the house."

"I understand," says Charles. "It seems the Cullens have sustained a great loss. And where do you fit into this story, wolf?"

"I was a friend of Bella's back when she was human," says Jake, squeezing his hands into fists to keep from punching Charles's annoying mug. "I helped keep her alive through the birth, and I kept my pack from annihilating the leeches—which, I should add, is the sole reason for our existence in the first place." He is satisfied to see Charles's shit-eating grin drop a few notches.

"So you wish to avenge your friend's death," he says. "How noble of you."

"Not exactly," says Jake. "If it were just Bella..."

"Oh?" asks Charles with a whiff of interest. "Why so determined, werewolf? Is there more to this peculiarly uninteresting tale?"

"The baby," says Jake through gritted teeth as he struggled to cling to his temper, "was the only thing on the planet that mattered to me. I'm not interested in living in a world without her. But I am sure as fuck gonna drag her murderer down to hell along with me. Does that answer your question?"

"Why do you care so much for an infant you only knew for a week?" says Charles. "Infants die every day."

"_Not this one!_" shouts Jake, a growl rumbling up out of his ribcage. Screw it, he'll just kill this twit and to hell with the stupid lie-detector bullshit.

"Jake, this isn't helping!" shouts Rosalie. Her voice barely penetrates the fog of rage, but it does just enough for him to get his phase under control. He towers over Charles and forces his lungs to chill the fuck out.

"Re_lax_, puppy," says Charles. "We'll help you. Don't get your tail in a twist. But I need to know what, exactly, you expect of me. I'm not going to start road-tripping with a reeking ill-tempered spaniel."

"Fine," says Kate, stepping between Jake and Charles, which is both a very brave and an excruciatingly stupid thing to do. "That's fine. We appreciate all the help we can get. So far all we've been able to do is track down nomads and question them, but we can never be sure if they're telling the truth. We've been looking for anyone with a supernatural power that might have offset Edward's mind-reading and Bella's newborn strength. Bella also had a slight shield; she was immune to mental powers. Eleazar's been traveling with us to help us identify the powers of the nomads we locate, but even if we do find a vampire who could have done it, we have no way of knowing if they're guilty or not. That's where you would come in."

"I see," says Charles. "What are you planning to do if I don't agree to help you? How do you handle the search then? How do you intend to ascertain the truth from the nomads you question?"

"I'll give you three guesses," says Jake, "But you're only going to need one." The other vampires look away, as if they would like to distance themselves from Jake and his uncouthness. Like he's the freak here, not them.

"That's despicable," says Charles in offended tones.

"Yeah?" says Jake. "Then do something about it. If you agree to help us question whatever nomads we find, I'll agree not to waste the ones who aren't responsible for Nessie's murder."

"We'll think about it," says Charles. "We'll let you know tomorrow. Garrett, care to join us for supper?" Garrett shoots his friend a pained look. "Oh, how silly of me," says Charles with a smile that makes Jake's skin crawl. "Well, you enjoy your vermin. We'll see you here after sunrise."

* * *

Four months later, Jake hasn't warmed to Charles at all. If anything, their animosity has only ripened. But Charles and his oddly mute mate have so far made good, showing up out of nowhere whenever the search party runs across a new nomad. Few of the leeches they find are in a big hurry to hold a tete-a-tete with a bunch of animal-drinkers and werewolves, but Kate can always get them to loosen their tongues. Like now, for instance. They've caught a pair of Chinese leeches who simply aren't in a sharing mood.

"Come on," says Kate, letting a trickle of electricity dance across their faces. Both leeches cringe and scream and try to run, but they're hedged in on all sides by vampires and werewolves. "Do you have any powers? Anything beyond simple vampire strength? All you have to do is tell us what we want to hear, and then you're free to go."

"We don't kill innocents," adds Charles with an accusing glance at Jake.

"All right, we'll tell you!" cries the female leech in passable English. Her mate looks at her furiously but she plows on anyway. "I...I can sense what people want. Please don't hurt us anymore, _please!_"

"You sense what people want, huh?" says Jake skeptically. This is the first leech they've found in a year who's actually copped to a magic power. "So, what do we want?"

"They want revenge," she says of Rosalie and Emmett. "He—" indicating Eleazar "—wants to go home. She—" of Leah "—wants an everything bagel with cream cheese." Jake gives Leah a _Seriously? What the fuck!_ look, but she only shrugs. "They—" pointing to Garrett and Kate "—want each other." Garrett and Kate become suddenly interested in studying the landscape. "And you want to burn things and die."

"Huh," says Jake. "Nifty."

"Moving on," says Kate, looking up. "Do you know anyone with a mental shield? Have you heard of anyone who can block out a mind-reader? Anyone who could take on a newborn?"

"No, never!" wails the female. "Please, just let us go!"

Jake looks at Charles, who shrugs and turns away. Kate sighs and steps back from the two leeches. "Sorry about that," she says defeatedly. "Thanks for cooperating, anyway." She runs off into the night, followed by Garrett, where Jake knows she is probably doing whatever it is leeches do instead of crying. Appearances notwithstanding, Kate doesn't actually enjoy causing unnecessary pain to strangers.

Jake doesn't mind, provided the strangers are bloodsuckers. When the Cullens stand aside to let the two nomads escape, Jake takes a step after them.

"Remember," says Charles. "The innocent ones go free. Tell me, Jake, have you killed any innocent vampires since our last interrogation?" He stares Jake in the eyes with that irritating lie-detector look on his face.

"Nope," says Jake, glaring. "But thank you ever so much for checking in, you officious tit."

"My pleasure," says Charles. "And remember, I'm only helping to keep you from murdering innocents like poor Lifan and Haochen out there. Break your promise and you lose my help."

"Whatever you say," grumbles Jake. Charles smiles one last self-satisfied smile and vanishes with his mate.

"Oh my god, Jake," says Leah, unphasing and grabbing Jake's arm. "Did you get bit?"

Jake looks down and, sure enough, there is a bite-mark that is slowly knitting closed. The blood from the wound has a thin, shimmery film over it that looks suspiciously like venom. "Oh, hey," he says without much interest. "Would you look at that."

"Jake, you have to get the poison out!" Leah says a little hysterically.

"Calm down," says Eleazar. "It would take days for a little bite like that to complete a transformation. He's not going to turn into a vampire wolf this second. We have time."

"Vampire venom is deadly to werewolves," explains Emmett. "Leah, you'd better suck the poison out. I'd do it but, you know...that would kind of make it worse."

"I'm not touching that stuff," says Leah. "It's poison to me too, genius."

"Guys, shut up," says Jake. "This isn't the first time I've been bit. I'm fine. Leah, no one has to suck anything out of anything."

"_WHAT?_" shout three very confused voices.

"What do you mean you've been bit before?" says Leah. "Why are you even _alive?_"

Jake shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "It's happened twice now, and both times I was fine."

"Why the hell didn't you say something?" says Leah. "This is kind of a big deal. If vampire venom isn't really poisonous to us...I mean, we've never put it to the test, but the elders all say it is and I just believed them—"

"Maybe it is," says Emmett thoughtfully. "Maybe Jake's immune."

"Why would Jake be immune?" says Eleazar. "What so special about him?"

"A question we've all asked ourselves," mutters Rosalie.

"He's an alpha," offers Leah. "He's descended from the first alpha. Maybe that's it."

"Actually," says Emmett, "I wasn't thinking about that. I was thinking about all those inoculations he got when Nessie was a baby."

"What inoculations?" asks Leah.

"Nessie used to bite me all the time," says Jake, remembering.

"Maybe her venom was weaker than a full vampire's," says Emmett. "Maybe it was weak enough that instead of killing you, it just built up your immune system."

"Wow," says Leah. "Maybe that's why you imprinted on her. Maybe she turned you into some kind of vampire-immune super-wolf!"

"Hooray," says Jake dully.

* * *

Three hours later, while Leah is sleeping under Rosalie and Emmett's guard, Jake races through the darkness, his paws thumping rhythmically against the dry ground. As far as anyone back at camp knows, Jake is running a border patrol right now, running around their camp in a broad circle and looking out for trouble. In reality, he is following Lifan and Haochen's pungent trail out of the area.

In another half hour, he has caught up to them beside a small lake. Desultorily he runs down the female, pops her head off in his teeth, and turns on the male who is trying to attack him. He wrenches the male's arms and legs off and piles them with the female's body, then unphases and begins grimly assembling a bonfire.

"What are you doing?" asks the man, aghast. "You swore you wouldn't kill us! You said you'd let us go!"

Jake tosses the limbless man onto the pile of kindling and the remains of his mate.

"No, I said I wouldn't kill any innocents." He wrenches the man's head from its shoulders and throws it on the ground beside its mate. Both heads lay silent and unmoving on the ground. "And you're hardly innocent, are you?"

Jake strikes a match and drops it on the pile of torsos and limbs. He watches the light from it flare up in the blood-red eyes of the two nomads. "Besides," Jake adds conversationally, picking up the heads. "Who said I was going to kill you?" He hurls them one at a time into the moonlit lake and watches them sink like stones beneath the surface, their eyes still staring blankly.

It only takes Jake two hours to retrace his steps. Leah is still there, slumbering in her compact sleeping bag on the hard ground. Eleazar is the only vampire present at the campsite.

"Jacob," says Eleazar. "It seems that with Charles's gift, my own powers have become redundant for your purposes. I hate to ask this, but..."

"I understand," says Jake heavily. "Thank you for helping us, Eleazar. Go back to your wife."

* * *

For their second anniversary, Demetri gives Nary a Suzuki Hayabusa.

"I had Federico modify it to get rid of the speed cap." Federico is the Volturi's resident mechanic, a relatively recent addition to the community who enjoys unusually high status for such a new coven-member. "Four-cylinder, seven hundred horsepower, liquid-cooled. You should get at least four hundred twenty kpm out of it. This way you can take off whenever Volterra gets too stuffy for you."

"I love it," she says, running her fingers over the customized bright yellow frame. "It's perfect! You give the _best_ presents, darling."

Then she thanks him in the usual way, until she is too breathless and exhausted to go on screwing. It is a huge thorn in her side that her pathetic human body needs sleep so often, but Demetri is always very sporting about it. Nary goes to sleep cuddled up against the cool smooth nakedness of her magnificently beautiful husband, lulled by the gentle rising and falling of his chest as he breathes. She's just had about twelve orgasms in a row, courtesy of a lover who is literally incapable of getting finger cramps, and even her dreams are pleasantly worn-out.

But sometime in the night she rolls over and misses Demetri's familiar form. He doesn't actually require sleep, but he usually stays in bed with her, catching up on whatever work he can do while sitting still, and she misses him when he's not there. She doesn't wake up now, but in her sleep she becomes fretful.

She is dreaming of the giant stranger again. There is something vividly _present_ about him this time; Nary doesn't even realize she's dreaming until she tries to talk and nothing comes out.

The strange boy—but is he a boy? Or is he an ancient?—holds out a hand to her, and there is a warm russet undertone to his flesh that she's never seen in a vampire. And when she tentatively touches her fingers to his, she is shocked to find that not only is he warm-blooded, he is hot-blooded, like her. She forgets this in the next shock, when she looks down and realizes she is only twenty-four inches high, standing unsteadily on two shaky baby legs. The strange giant laughs and the sound is so joyful it infuses her with its brilliance.

Then he bends down and picks her up, and suddenly she is herself again, Nereid of the Volturi, five feet six inches of slender untouchable killing-machine. She does what all killing machines must. She murders him, wetly sucking his life away through a gash in his neck.

Then Nary is laughing over the dead boy, laughing and laughing until tears stream down her face.

When she wakes up, the tears are real. Demetri is gone, and she is terribly alone, and she feels like she's just destroyed a small but vital part of her own soul. Already the details of the dream are sliding back into the fog of her subconscious. She is painfully thirsty, and so she gets up, dresses in the dark, and grabs the keys to her new motorcycle.

Demetri is coming down the passageway to their apartments while she is heading out. As always when he sees her, his face lights up.

"Are you thirsty?" he asks. "Heidi brought some food yesterday and I think there may be one or two left in the cells."

"I want to take my new baby out for a test-drive," she says, forcing herself to laugh light-heartedly and kissing him on the lips.

"Tell me how it goes," he says, and soon she is outside, breathing the fresh night air. She heads through the walled part of Volterra that is accessible only to vampires, which they call Volterra Fulgida. This is where all of the Volturi buildings and apartments and shops and galleries are located. She heads down a broad avenue of workshops where vampire artists sew and carve and whittle and paint all of the objects that beautify the Palazzo Eterno. She turns onto a small street and enters the gleaming multilevel garage where her Hayabusa and Demetri's Ferrari live; immediately a young mechanic recognizes her and rushes away to get her bike. After that it takes her only a moment to ride out of Volterra Fulgida, through the empty moonlit streets of Volterra proper, and out into the Tuscan countryside.

This bike really is incredible, many times faster than she can go under her own power. Riding it, she hopes she can outrun her own bad dreams, but of course dreams are faster than anything on earth that moves. The strange boy's black eyes are in front of her the whole way.

Nary pulls off at a ranch far from Volterra, conceals her bike and silently enters a starlit pasture. She crouches beside a ewe and runs her hands over its burr-stiffened coat. The thing smells...well, it smells pretty awful, if she's being honest with herself. It sure as hell doesn't smell like anything she'd want to eat.

But it won't scream, or beg her to let it see its grandson one last time. Perhaps the problem is that the victims brought to Volterra are more thoroughly terrorized than the lonely travelers she used to stalk on her own. Perhaps it's merely a symptom of growing older. But ever since her initiation party, something has been bleeding out of her, more slowly than the blood leaves her victims but just as permanently. It's become harder and harder for her to shut out the screams, harder to imagine her prey are no more than unevolved beings who exist to be eaten. She had to force herself to eat the last few, and only did it after the hunger overcame her. She couldn't even keep them down. Now she's famished.

Sheep smell terrible. Nary holds her breath and bites through the sheep's flesh. She is less familiar with sheep anatomy than with humans, and misses the major artery on her first try, so she must bite it again.

It tastes as bad as it smells, but at least it doesn't beg.

* * *

**Okay, guys, full disclosure: I got the idea for the wolf innoculation imprint link from a reviewer on an old story, and I totally can't remember what their username was. I feel terrible. I think it started with an I...or an A? I don't know. Let me know if it was you and I'll credit properly.**

**Review if you're into that sort of thing. That would cheer me up immensely.**


	16. Break

Leah needs a break. Jake knows it and she knows it. Every damn one of them knows it. It's been thirteen years since Nessie's murder, and in all that time Leah has done nothing but keep Jake's head above water. It's five years now since they started their hunt, and Leah needs to spend some time with humans again. Her mother, for example, and Charlie Swan. The wolf packs are long since disbanded, but all the men who used to be wolf-boys are still there on the rez, aging without her. Jake can see that Leah's determination to be there for him is slowly losing ground to her desire not to outlive everyone she loves.

Well, that's reasonable.

So Jake tells her to take some time off, not to come back until and unless she's ready. If there's anyone left that Jake cares about, it's Leah. He's not exactly grateful that she kept him alive, but he doesn't want her to throw her life down the shitter along with him.

"I'll take a break if you do," says Leah. Still looking out for him. Of course she is.

"Leah, I don't need a break. I don't want a—"

"I don't care," she says. "_I_ say you need one. Come back to the states with me, okay? Come see your dad. See my mom. Just...you need people."

"No I don't."

"Jake—"

"You're sort of talking like you think there's going to be something back there for me after this is finished. Like I'm gonna catch the guy and kill him and then I'll come home and go back to living with my people. Like I need to _plan_ for it."

"Well, why not? Why shouldn't you try to squeeze a little happiness out of the rest of your life?"

He stares at her in total disbelief. Does she sincerely think there's going to be a _rest of his life?_ He's not sure what's supposed to happen to him after he finds the guy responsible, but he can guarantee it won't be anything good. He's not even made out of human anymore.

Leah sighs. "Listen, Jake, I can't make you agree with me. But god, at least for the sake of the mission come back and get some rest. You never sleep anymore. You haven't eaten a bite of human food in six months. You're the walking dead. This can't be good for you."

"Oh, really?" he asks derisively. "Am I slowing down, then? That last leech I took down, did I nab him too slowly? How could you even tell, from all the way back there?"

Leah recoils as if he's slapped her and Jake is instantly overcome with remorse. She's done so much; hell, Leah is about ninety percent of why he's even standing here right now, on this godforsaken plain in Alberta, attempting to zero in on Nessie's killer. He just took a massive dump where he eats.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Leah," he says contritely. "You're right, I'm a dickhead."

"You got that right, you little shit," she says angrily. Well, he deserves that. He is a little shit, never thought otherwise. "If you're done throwing your little tantrum, why don't you call up the others and let them know we're taking some R&R? I'm sure they want to see their families. Covens. Whatever."

"Yeah, okay," says Jake.

* * *

"Son of a bitch, it is you," says Charlie Swan from his front porch. He runs down the steps and walks over to Jake. Leah brushes past them both and goes into the house, where Sue is banging stuff around. Charlie has to look way up into Jake's face. Jake isn't sure if the police chief is going to try to hug him or shoot him. He's not sure which one would be worse, but at least he knows how to dodge a bullet.

"Let me get a look at you," says Charlie. "Good god, you look like you've been through the ringer."

"Yeah," says Jake. "I would." Leah made him buy a real pair of pants and a real t-shirt, but he still looks like he's been living outdoors without a tent for five years. He's about to try to say something to break the tension when Chief Swan unexpectedly throws his arms around Jake. Looking down, Jake can really see how grey the older man's hair is. It's way more salt than pepper. He endures the hug, which is mercifully brief, and then allows himself to be conducted into the house. He has to duck his whole body to fit under the lintel.

Then there is more hugging to be endured from Sue, who manages to convey simultaneously her delight at their visit and her fury at them for not visiting sooner.

"How'd your daddy take it, having you back?" asks Charlie when the women have stopped being hysterical.

"Don't know; I haven't seen him yet," says Jake.

"Dammit, boy, get your ass over there! You have any idea what Billy's been through these last ten years? Christ, you're lucky your sister came back when she did or else you wouldn't have a dad to come home to."

Then, presumably because Jake can't be trusted to do it himself, Sue and Charlie and Leah all pile with Jake into Sue's car, which can comfortably seat four only if one of the four isn't the size of two grown men. Charlie calls Billy Black on the way over to let him know they're coming; Jake hears the whole conversation and suddenly regrets his decision to return to Washington.

By the time Jake is actually extracting himself from Sue's car, however, Billy is done shouting. Now he's crying. Okay, this is definitely worse. Jake wonders if he can convince his dad to go back to below-the-belt verbal abuse. Abuse which, frankly, he deserves. After all, he's only spoken to his father about once a year for the past decade. This is way worse than what Rebecca pulled in college. It turns out that Jake can still feel guilt. Well, that's good to know.

"Hi, Dad," he says. Wow, Billy's hair is now iron-grey as well. He actually looks...well, _old_.

"So how long are you here for, Jake?" asks Billy thickly.

"I don't know," says Jake. "I haven't decided. Leah needed some time—"

"Oh, _Leah_ needed time. Yes, of course. Well, it would have been nice if you came back because you wanted to see me."

"Sorry, Dad," says Jake. "I didn't mean it like that. Of course I want to see you. I guess I just..."

"Lost track of time?" suggests his father. "How in the hell do you lose track of ten years? What are you even doing out there? No one tells me a damn thing."

"I'm sorry, Dad." Jake hangs his head. He only knows how to feel two things anymore: remorse and anger. Not that the two are mutually exclusive. Not by a long shot.

"Just...oh, lord. Just get over here and give your old man a hug and at least pretend you wanted to see me, okay?"

"Okay." Jake can do that. Dimly he remembers what it feels like to enjoy human contact. He used to hug Bella all the time, back when she was human. Of course partly that was because he had a crush on her, but he was also just an affectionate kid. He liked touching people. He liked being touched, having his hair played with and sinking into long warm hugs with no defined beginnings or ends.

Now he views every touch as a threat, and that has less to do with Nessie's death and more to do with the way he lives now. He's become edgy since taking to the road with four vampires. There are no hugs with Rosalie. No rough-housing with Emmett, although he suspects that if things were different he and Emmett could have been friends. Kate is pretty cool, but she's still a vampire. And Leah doesn't go in for the touchy-feely stuff. She's more a tough-love kind of person. So what it boils down to is that the only interpersonal contact that happens in Jake's life can be neatly sorted into two categories:

1. Get smacked around by Leah when he gets too unbearable and

2. Attack/get attacked by red-eyed leeches.

But he can certainly remember how hugs are supposed to go, so he hugs his father. He even tries to put in the right amount of pressure and the right number of back-pats, although in so doing he accidentally knocks the wind out of his dad.

"Well, Jake," says Billy, "It's good to see you. Come on in, Rachel and Paul're coming around for dinner. I guess I should have them bring extra, huh?"

"Yeah, okay," says Jake. "That would be great."

Sue and Charlie take over Billy's kitchen, boiling up a huge load of potatoes and browning meat in a pan to supplement the dinner already in the works. Leah hangs around getting in her mom's way, and there is something heartbreaking about how she hovers. She is five feet eleven inches of dense muscle, and Jake has seen her take down things that belong in nightmares, but in Billy's kitchen she seems to be attached to her mother by a tether. They never got along this well when Leah still lived on the rez.

What is Jake doing to her? He should really tell her to just stay here. She needs her family.

"Jake? Jake!" Billy is snapping his fingers to get his son's attention.

"Sorry, Dad, what were you saying?"

"I was saying...oh, never mind. Hey, are you getting enough to eat wherever it is you go?"

"Yeah," says Jake. "The leeches bring me the animals they drink. Nothing even gets wasted."

"Sounds like you got a system worked out, huh?"

"Yup."

"You get along with the Cullens any better than you used to?"

"Sure," says Jake. "I mean, Rosalie's still annoying as shit, but Emmett's okay. We're working with two other ones, too. Garrett and Kate."

"Red eyes?"

"Yellow. Garrett was red-eyed until he met Kate, but he switched."

"That's good news. One less murderer."

"Right. Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know the story about the wolf whose imprint got killed by a packmate? I know it happened but I don't know how."

"Well, it was in the original pack. There's not too much to tell. It was an accident, probably just like what happened with Sam and Emily. Only in that case the imprint didn't survive. Well, you know what medicine was like then, a little too much praying to the gods for help and not enough penicillin. So the wolf who was imprinted tried to kill the wolf who did it, until the alpha ordered them both to give up phasing permanently. But all the rest of the wolves had to hear everything the imprinted wolf felt, so by the end they were a wreck. That's why the pack dwindled. By the time the cold ones showed up there were hardly any wolves left." He looks up at his son. "Anyway, that's the story. I don't know how much of it's true."

"What happened to the wolf who had the imprint?" Jake asks, avoiding his father's gaze. "What did he do?"

"Well, Jake, I don't know that. The story doesn't get into too much detail. I would guess he probably took himself off into the wilderness for a while, then came back and tried to keep living."

"Did he ever get revenge?" Jake can feel his father boring two eye-shaped holes into the side of his skull, so he pretends to be very interested in the dirt under his fingernails.

"What revenge? It was an accident."

"Oh."

"Jake, you're looking for the killer, aren't you?" asks Billy, sucking in a breath. "That's what you've been doing all these years."

"No," says Jake. "Just the last five. The first four years I was just sort of…trying to fade away. And then it took me that long just to get strong enough to phase again."

"Christ, son," mutters Billy. "What can I say to make you stay here? Why don't you just…maybe if you give up phasing the pain could start to fade."

"I don't think so, Dad. I tried that and it didn't do shit, just made me feel even more helpless. At least if I do this I've got something to keep me going."

"If I didn't know first-hand that this stuff is real, I would never have believed it. What use is imprinting, anyway? I can't see that it's ever done anyone a lick of good."

"I ask myself that same question."

"Jake," says Billy, "Tell me honestly. Is there a chance you'll ever be happy again? Or at least, not so withered-up?"

"I don't know, Dad." He honestly doesn't. He hasn't felt anything that even came close to happiness since he saw Nessie last, when she was reaching her tiny hands out for him and begging him with her eyes not to go. "I guess anything could happen. Maybe there's a statute of limitations on misery. What do you think?"

"Well, you don't get over things, but sometimes you can learn to warm up around the edges. I haven't seen you smile in so long. Your smile used to light up a whole room. You ever smile out there with Leah?"

"Sometimes." Jake is stretching the truth a little: the closest he comes to smiling is what he does when he's neutralizing a leech. And that isn't a proper smile because wolves don't have the lips for it. But he does snarl. That counts, right?

"Well, Jake, I'm happy to see you, even if you're not happy to see me."

"Don't say that, Dad, I'm glad I came back," lies Jake. "I can't stay long, but...I'll try to come home more often. Okay?"

"I'll believe that," says Billy Black, "when I see it."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Leave me a review if you feel like it! It's taint-hot where I live so I'm gonna go stuff myself in the freezer for a while. Later!**


	17. Nessie's Eyes

Leah and Jake spend two months on the rez, with a break in the middle to go up to Denali and see Kate and Garrett tie the knot. On the rez, Jake eats meals with his dad, and he visits Charlie more or less every day, and he pokes around his father's garage which is now used chiefly to store the overflow from the house. Rachel and Paul live down the street, and Jake visits them a lot. He has to make up for lost time, especially since he's now an uncle. Rachel will probably never forgive him for failing to come back when her two sons were born, but Paul seems to understand. An understanding Paul is not something that dovetails well with Jake's worldview, but he's not about to question it.

His two nephews—five and two years old—adore him for some unfathomable reason. It's probably because he has roughly the size and durability of a jungle gym. They climb all over him from the minute he steps foot on their property to the minute he leaves. It does weird things to Jake's brain to see two happy, oblivious, adorable kids smiling at him. If there is anything in him that remotely resembles a living human, it's the part that is an uncle. Once the youngest one, Joseph, even startles a half-smile out of Jake by jumping on him and rubbing dirt in his hair. What is it about little kids, Jake wonders, and rubbing dirt in people's hair? But just as his smile is about to reach full bloom, he remembers another baby rubbing sand in his hair long ago, and the smile turns into a grimace.

Joseph doesn't notice, because he is two. He just keeps on climbing all over his uncle and making no emotional demands of him, and after a while Jake is even able to talk to the kid in short, nonsensical sentences. By the second month, Joseph is permanently affixed to Jake's arms, where he dangles gleefully from morning til night. Joseph and Jake even have inside jokes and special games that they only play with each other, like swing-Joseph-by-the-ankles, and throw-Joseph-really-really-high-in-the-air-and-try -not-to-get-seen-or-yelled-at-by-Rachel. Joseph never requires Jake to smile or act happy, and he never asks when Jake is going to finally settle down. And in return, Jake never gets tired of answering Joseph's unending questions about every minute working of the universe.

After two months, Jake is astounded to discover that he actually looks forward to his visits with his sister's family. It feels so unfamiliar to look forward to _anything_ that Jake doesn't know what to do with himself. Is this what everyone keeps jawing on about? He's still nowhere near happy, but there are bright moments that bubble up through the stagnant swamp of his longing for Nessie. Maybe when he's done finding and destroying the monster, he'll come back to the rez and stop phasing and just live until he dies.

* * *

"Shit, kid, you don't even move."

Jake looks down at himself, then back up at Charlie who is sitting in his recliner across the room and comfortably cleaning his side-arm. "What do you mean?" Jake asks, confused. "I move." Hell, even his unphased moves would leave an Olympic gold medalist weeping in the dust.

"Don't you want a seat? You're just...standing there," says Charlie. "Are you even breathing? You don't fidget or shuffle your feet or look around... You're like a statue, Jake. You sure as hell aren't a boy anymore. Shit, you're not even a man. You're just a body walkin' around. What's the point of that?"

"I don't know." Jake sighs heavily. He sits on the couch just to make Charlie happy; come to think of it, it is unusual for someone to be able to stand up without shifting their weight for forty-five minutes at a go. He didn't even realize he was doing anything out of the ordinary; as usual, he was lost in thought.

"Jacob Black," Charlie says, "I know you hurt. Good god, I miss Bella every day of my life, and that is never going away, not for me, not for you. But it's been _thirteen years_. When does this stop? When do you come back and start bein' a person again?"

_Never_, Jake wants to say. Or maybe, _Statues can't be people_. But instead he says, "I've just got some things to take care of. Then I'll come back and—" He catches himself before he says _stop phasing_; although Charlie found out after the fact that his daughter had a baby, he doesn't know anything about the part with vampires and werewolves and imprints. Shit, he thinks it's _Bella's_ death that drove Jake off the deep end. Why would Jake care about a baby he barely even knew? "Well, I'll come back," he finishes lamely.

"Jake, I have something for you, if you want it. Wait here a sec." Jake stares listlessly out the window and doesn't look up until Charlie is back. Right away, he wishes he'd just kept his eyes on the window, because Charlie is holding out a photograph, and even though Jake knows and dreads what he's about to see, he can't keep himself from reaching out and taking it.

And there she is, five days old, nestled in Bella's arms and reaching for the camera. Her dark brown eyes are wide with exhilaration, her cheeks are apple-red. Even the staticky fuzz on top of her head seems excited. She is so alive, so happy to be alive.

"Jake? Jake!" Charlie's voice seems to come from very far away. Jake is hunched over, his head between his knees, the picture dangling from his fingers, and he has stepped into some seriously fucked-up hallucinations. Nessie is alive, she'll be thirteen by now, maybe he'll start teaching her to drive. She's beginning to get annoyed by her parents, they always embarrass her at school. But she gets good grades, of course, because she's the smartest girl in the whole wide world.

"_Jake!_" There are more voices now, one of them is Leah and one is Sue and one is Nessie, her voice is a little like her mother's but not much, and she's telling him all about a book she just finished reading.

"What's it called?" he asks her.

"What's what called, Jake?" asks Charlie, but Leah brushes Charlie aside and crouches in front of Jake so she can look him in the face.

"That sounds awesome, Ness!" Jake says, reaching out to ruffle Nessie's hair. It's long and straight like Bella's was, but a lighter brown. She and Bella could be twins, they are so alike.

"Dammit, Jake, get your dumb ass back here!" Jake is smiling and the muscles in his face don't recognize the motion. Then there is a blinding pain where Leah's fist makes contact, and Jake is back in reality, and Nessie is still dead.

Two days later, Jake and Leah are on a plane to Alaska.

* * *

It takes her husband months to realize Nary isn't touching human blood. It takes him that long because Nary simply goes without food for as long as she can, then sneaks out and drains a few sheep at ranches and farms far from Volterra. Although she knows she's not doing anything technically wrong, she lives in fear of being discovered by Aro. Her adoration for the ancient, which was shocked out of her at her initiation, hasn't returned. Now she's just scared of him. So she sneaks out to drink her sheep.

But going without food takes its toll, and Nary has one more reason to hate being half-human: unlike a vampire, if she goes without food it shows in her body. She starts losing weight, and her husband is first worried and then outright alarmed. So one night she brings him with her on her food run. They drive out to the boonies in his Ferrari, and he watches with increasing horror as he realizes what she's doing.

"Nary, this isn't healthy," he says as she tears up the ram to make it look like an animal attack. "We're not meant to drink animal blood. It's not good for us."

"Well, it doesn't bother me," she says a little defensively. Actually, it does bother her, a lot, but not as much as drinking the petrified humans Heidi brings back to the coven. Unlike the humans Nary drank as a child, these ones realize pretty quickly that they're involved in something horrific. Sometimes they languish in cellars for a week or more until a vampire gets around to eating them, which gives them plenty of time to get good and hysterical. Nary doesn't know what it says about her that if she'd never come to Volterra she would probably still be drinking humans. It's just too visceral here; the Volturi enjoy terrorizing their meals too much.

It makes Nary sick to her stomach. It took her long enough to realize how deeply it affected her, but now that she's taken the first step she can't go back.

"Nary," says Demetri, "You just need to get some perspective. Why don't we go away for a while? We can go back to Mongolia, or anywhere else you want. We could just take off and be by ourselves again. I hate to see you doing this to yourself." He gently prises the ram out of Nary's hands and sets it on the ground, then takes her by the shoulders and looks into her eyes. "I worry about you."

"Maybe you're right," she says, sighing. "Can we go away? Do you think Aro will let us?"

"Let us?" he echoes, laughing incredulously. "He's not a tyrant, Nary! All he requires is that I be available when he needs me, and that you keep working to develop your skills. We aren't exactly prisoners here. We can go any time we like."

"Okay," says Nary. She doesn't agree with his assessment of Aro, but then he's known the ancient much longer than she has. "Let's go. I've always wanted to see Russia."

* * *

Jake has never wanted to see Russia. It is cold as fuck here. Kate is in her element; apparently she lived here back when she was human. She's teaching Garrett to speak the medieval Russian dialect she spoke in life.

This place is an incredible hunting ground for leeches. It's huge and full of empty stretches where vampires can do whatever they want. There's a massive human population with a pragmatic attitude toward the occasional disappearance. They've found seven leeches here in the last year alone. Unbeknownst to Charles and the others, there are seven still-living leech heads buried in the permafrost, seven ashy bonfires that have long since blown away.

They are tracking an eighth now. Jake could swear he's smelled this leech somewhere before, but he never leaves a leech in one piece; he can't have met it. So why is that smell so maddeningly familiar? It's disgusting, antifreeze-sweet like all human-drinkers. The scent is hitting a nerve, but he doesn't know why.

The others are spread out, none closer than ten miles away, unable to keep up with Jake as he races north. But that's all right. He will find the fucker. Of that he has no doubt.

* * *

Nary kisses Demetri on the lips and springs off into the wilderness. Much to his disappointment, she hasn't given up drinking from animals. Right now she is off to hunt for supper. There is plenty to eat in Russia. The place is positively teeming with foxes, wolves, leopards and farm animals. Foxes are too small to make for very filling meals, although they taste better than sheep. She drinks leopards when she can get them, which isn't often; she and Demetri aren't traveling in good leopard-territory.

For some reason, though, she can't bring herself to drink wolves. She came across a whole pack of gray wolves once, and they smelled far better than any other animal she's ever drunk. They actually smelled appetizing. She watched these ones from a quarter mile away, tracking them across a frozen plain. She watched a young wolf bounding excitedly around a group of elders, who tolerated its antics patiently. She watched a few strong wolves in their prime race each other; she could practically feel the wind rushing through their silvery fur. They aren't a pack, not really. They are more like a family.

She left them unharmed, and went off in search of some sheep or, if she was very lucky, maybe a horse.

* * *

Jake puts on a burst of speed and suddenly he has the leech in his sights, about a mile away over the gently rolling land. It runs into a hollow and he loses it, but then it rises up a hill and he can see it again. In less than a minute he has halved the gap between them, and the scent is really starting to chafe at his memory. Where has he smelled this leech before? It's a male, black-haired and olive-skinned. He hasn't smelled it since before he stopped phasing—

_The tracker_. With a lurch it hits him. This is Demetri, the Volturi asshole who informed them of Nessie's death. He wanted to kill him then, but he couldn't. Her murder was too fresh. That's okay, he'll kill him now.

The leech definitely knows he's coming, because it is sprinting full-out. But they are on a plain, there's nowhere to hide, and Jake is easily the faster of the two. In another three minutes, he is snapping at the tracker's heels.

Another second, and he has grabbed one calf in his teeth and wrenched it away, severing the leech's leg below the knee. The thing tastes truly foul.

The tracker is wilier than Jake gave him credit for, though, because he twists as he falls and lashes out with one hand, swiping a long gash into Jake's torso, just behind his right foreleg. Jake springs away with a growl, and while the tracker is trying to get away on one leg and two arms, Jake reaches out and almost lazily bites off the other foot. This leech is going nowhere.

_What's going on?_ thinks Leah in his head. _Did you find it?_

Jake considers for a moment. Leah can't see what Jake is seeing, which is lucky. The others will be approximately one million percent opposed to killing a member of the Volturi guard. They don't see Demetri as an enemy. They probably won't even want to capture and question him, lest he report back to the Volturi and bring down retribution on all of them. Jake can't put the others at risk, and he can't risk them getting in his way.

_No_, he thinks to Leah._ I thought I was close, but this one is tricky, he's headed south. Just keep looking._

There is a permanent growl rumbling through Jake's chest. He is bleeding profusely from his wound; this will slow him down, but the leech's wounds are much worse and will keep him from escaping. He plants a heavy forepaw on the leech's chest and brings his face close. The leech's eyes are bright red and frantic. The leech looks—wow, it actually looks _afraid_. Leeches almost never show fear. They only show fear where their mates are concerned, but Jake didn't smell a second leech—

"Nary! _Trexte makria!_" screams the leech, hoarse and deep, "_Trexte, tora!_"

Jake is still looking up when a person-shaped cannonball crashes into his flank, knocking him off of Demetri and opening his wound further.

_Shit shit shit_, he thinks. _It has a mate_. But the mate doesn't smell like a leech and it doesn't smell like a human. What the fuck is going on here?

Jake doesn't take the time to figure it out. He sprints away. If he can keep the mate from opening his wound up any more, he'll be able to heal enough to double back and finish the job. But the mate follows after him and he doesn't get a chance to stop and catch a breath. Something is off about this thing. Jake's injuries are slowing him down in a major way, yet his pursuer doesn't catch up. He's topping out at about seventy mph. A leech should be able to catch him in a heartbeat.

Jake reaches the top of a low hill, leaps down the other side, and spins around. He'll just have to take out the mate right now, injuries be damned. The odd-smelling creature leaps down the hill after him, and he catches a sight of long, light-brown hair whipping in the wind.

Then he sees something that almost makes him lose his shit. On a gold chain, dangling over the female's coat, is a flash of brilliant green. An irregular trapezoid of sea-glass, worn as a necklace.

Nessie's sea-glass. And this leech-lover is wearing it like a trophy. This freak of nature had something to do with her death. Jake lets out a howl that can be heard for miles and gathers up his haunches, but before he can spring, the creature looks into his eyes.

Everything stops.

Her eyes are dark brown, the very color of unsweetened coffee. They are the eyes that have stalked his every thought for fourteen years, the eyes that have comforted him in his dreams and tortured him upon waking. Nessie's eyes.

Just as the thought shocks him out of his phase, she attacks.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts! I got the stuff about wolf behavior in the wild from the book _Inside of a Dog_ by Alexandra Horowitz. If I have any Greek-speaking readers, let me know if I got those bits wrong and I'll fix them. **


	18. Discovery

So this is the monster who just dismembered her husband. Nary watches it settle into its hind legs and knows from her hours watching the silver wolves what it is going to do next. It will spring for her throat. After what it did to Demetri, a full vampire, she wouldn't be surprised if it outright killed her.

Well, not if she kills it first.

She takes a quick step back and then leaps at the giant red wolf, but she doesn't get to complete her attack, because by the time she reaches it the red wolf is gone and there is an enormous naked man in its place. Nary is so startled that when she lands on the man she forgets to dispatch him neatly, like she'd planned to do. Instead they roll several yards, she digging her nails into a long, partly-healed gash that runs from his left armpit to his waist, and he—what is he doing, exactly? Is he trying to wrestle?

Good god, he's _hugging_ her! What the hell!

This asshole is strong, so strong that Nary is having trouble smashing his head in with her fist. Hell, she's not even making a dent. If he were a human, he'd be all kinds of dead by now. Clearly he's not a human. What the hell is he? And why is he crying?

"Let…go…of…me!" she manages to wheeze out around the giant's boa-constrictor embrace. Of course, she says it in Greek, since that is her default language, but the giant doesn't even register that she has spoken. She tries Russian. "What are you _doing?_" Nothing. She tries it in English. "Let me _go!_"

So quickly it startles her, the giant lets go. They both scramble to their feet and stand a meter apart. Nary is scowling. The giant is smiling a smile that lights up everything for a kilometer around. His black almond-shaped eyes are positively drinking in the sight of her. He is grinning idiotically as ice crystallizes on his dirty bare toes and a brisk wind raises every hair on his dirty bare body. He looks like an addle-pated fool. He looks…he looks…

He looks wonderful. Does she know him? For some reason he is as familiar to her as the back of her own hand. She would swear she's seen that smile before. For a second, she forgets that he just injured her husband and that she wants to kill him. Looking at him, she wants to laugh and cry at the same time, run in circles and jump and clap and scream for joy and then bury her face in her hands and sob for no reason at all.

Then she remembers herself and is furious that she let her guard down, even for a moment. He injures her husband and messes with her head and just stands there grinning at her like a maniac. Damn it, who _is_ this jerk?

* * *

One of the following is true:

1. Jacob Black is dead.

2. Jacob Black is dying.

3. Jacob Black has finally cracked.

Either way, what bliss!

He has never imagined her like this before, but he must admit that his brain is really pulling out all the stops for this hallucination. She's so lifelike! He always figured she'd grow up to look a lot more like her mother, but if there are any faint traces of her parentage, they are of her father. She has Edward's nose, long and straight, but hers is more decisive. She has his high, narrow cheekbones, too, but a stronger chin and jaw which right now is set in defiance. And her copper-brown hair reaches the small of her back in shiny corkscrews all tattered from the wind.

All in all, she doesn't look very much like either parent. She just looks like _her_. A perfect fabrication of a ruined mind. For what inscrutable reason his mind saw fit to age her several years—she _should_ be just fourteen, not in her twenties—Jake will never know. And for some reason she has a faint British accent, and before that she was speaking what sounded like Russian and something else he doesn't recognize. That's…oddly specific. Whatever, who is he to question it? He's just hoping he doesn't regain his senses any time soon.

Jake watches mesmerized as those coral-pink, frowning lips open and words come out. "Who the hell are you?" asks the hallucination. Her cheeks are bright pink—with anger, he realizes. Why, she's angry at _him!_ Jake grins even more broadly. This is awesome! His brain has finally succumbed to madness and it is putting on a damn good show. He should have gone crazy years ago. She's so pretty when she gets angry!

"You know," he says happily, "I always imagined you'd look more like Bella. I thought you had her eyes when you were born, but you've really grown into them. And you were the spitting image of your dad, but you've dropped a lot of that too."

The hallucination looks confused, then angry again. "What are you—ugh, never mind. Why did you attack us without provocation? We've done nothing to you!"

"Oh, I'm gonna kill the tracker," says Jake easily. "Even if he didn't personally murder you, he definitely has it coming. I tried to kill him just after you died, but they pulled me off before I could finish the job."

"What do you mean, 'after I died'?" says the hallucination, looking more baffled than ever. "Explain yourself, creature!" Her voice is so beautiful, throaty and smooth and nothing at all like he imagined before. And underlying it there is a quality Jake hasn't heard since he was in Sam's pack: she just issued an order, using the same tone of authority Sam used when he ordered his wolves around. Or, more accurately, the same tone Emily and Kim used when they ordered Sam and Jared around. When an imprint uses that voice, her wolf has no choice but to obey. Emily and Kim know not to use that voice all the time. The hallucination doesn't even seem to realize she's doing it.

Even as Jake is thinking this, his mouth is already answering: "We found the boat," he says, "The one you went out in with Edward and Bella. There were enough ashes in it for two leeches, but no sign of you anywhere. We searched for days and never even caught your scent. Then Carlisle asked the Volturi for help, and they brought the tracker, who told us you were dead. I know you're not supposed to kill the messenger," he adds, "but I am really going to relish grinding his skull into paste."

The hallucination looks nauseated. "You will grind nothing into paste, wolf," she says. "And for heaven's sake put some pants on."

There it is again, that commanding voice. Before he even realizes it, he has grabbed his shorts from the pouch around his leg. He is pulling them on when he stops. He looks at the hallucination, who is chewing on the inside of her cheek. He sniffs the air. It is positively saturated with her scent, a blend of flowers and honey and adult human female and some nasty traces of the tracker that turn his stomach. Why on earth would he fantasize about Nessie smelling like a leech?

He looks down at his shorts then back up at her. "Give me another order," he says slowly.

"What?"

"Please, Nessie?" His heart is thumping and he can't look his mind in the face, because it is threatening him with the one thing that can still hurt him after all these years.

Hope.

"No problem. Go chop down a tree with your face."

"Please?" he says again, his voice catching. "A real one. Something simple."

"Good lord," huffs the hallucination. "Fine. Go pick up that rock." She points to a mid-sized stone a few feet away. Jacob waits for that weird imprint-y pull, but nothing happens. "Now will you please explain why you want me to order you around?" she says impatiently. "And _tell the truth_."

Whoa, there it is. "You're my imprint," Jake says in a rush. "When you give me an order like that, I have to obey, it's part of the wolf thing." His words are banging into each other in their rush to flee his mouth before the full implications of this moment hit him and he completely loses his mind. "But I think you have to really mean it or it doesn't work, but it's working right now, and I thought you were just another dream but _dreams can't boss me around_. Nessie—"

"Why do you keep calling me that?" she interrupts. "My name is Nary—Nereid, to you."

"It didn't used to be," he says, clenching his teeth against the hope that is flooding his system, trying to bite off the obedience that is fooling him into thinking Nessie is—

_Don't give in, don't give in_, he tells himself sternly, _it'll only hurt more when you wake up_. But he can't help himself. "Your mom named you Renesmee, and it was such a big name for such a little thing. Nessie was my name for you. You liked it better than your real name. You told me so."

"I've never spoken to you in my life," she says uncertainly.

"Not in words," says Jake, taking a cautious step forward and closing the distance between them. She shifts her weight from foot to foot but doesn't step away. Slowly, slowly, as if she were a wild animal he doesn't want to startle, he reaches out and takes her hand loosely in his. She doesn't pull away, just watches him intently through wide brown eyes. Jake brings her hand up to his face and presses it against his cheek. He has a sudden vision superimposed over his own eyesight of looking up at himself from her height. He presses his cheek more closely against her palm, his large brown hand covering her small white one, and he isn't imagining it, he can really feel the delicate phalanges under the soft skin. The vision changes: Jake sees himself as a sixteen-year-old, crouching low and proffering a piece of green sea glass, glimmering with uninjured joy.

"You're the boy from my dreams," she says softly. "What are you doing in the real world?"

"Looking for your murderer."

"But I'm not dead," she says.

"I'm beginning to think you may be right," he says, and he can no longer help himself, he fought against hope and hope won. He reaches out and sweeps her into his arms, and this time instead of fighting him off she sinks into his embrace. She's alive, she's alive, it's impossible but it's true. She has a warm heartbeat and she feels so real and she smells so distinctive, and she is holding him as tightly as he is holding her. He rests his face against the top of her head and breathes in the scent of her hair.

For the first time in fourteen years, Jacob Black knows what it is to be happy.

* * *

Nary's feet dangle a foot off the frozen turf and her fingers dig into the superheated, golden-red skin of the giant's shoulders. Her mind is reeling. She knew it as soon as she saw his glorious, illuminating smile, but she didn't understand it till now. It's impossible—it _can't_ be possible—but the boy from her dreams is real. He's unbelievably, vividly real. He is steaming in the frigid air, she can hear his bare toes crackling in the frost-bitten grass as they flex. He smells like everything good in the world.

Also, he is shaking like a leaf. Nary is concerned.

"You're alive," he is whimpering, "alive, alive…" How could she ever have thought him an enemy? This boy has been with her all her life; barely a week has passed in which she did not dream of him at least once. She has an urge, bone-deep, to get as close as possible. The very sun shines out of this boy.

No, wait. Not a boy. Nary leans back and inspects his face. Though filthy, his skin is smooth and unlined. His eyes are squeezed closed and his lashes are clotted with tears, but there are no wrinkles to betray age. His hair is cropped close to his head, and frankly it looks like he cut it with a shard of broken glass, but it is uniformly blue-black. He can't be older than twenty-five.

He also can't be younger than a hundred. No mere twenty-five year old could bear that soul-eaten look. He looks weighed-down and hard-edged. She has a brief irrational fear that if she lets go of him he'll go up in flames.

She holds him tighter.

They stand like that for a long, long time. When the giant finally releases Nary, her feet explode in pins and needles and she has to hop around for a moment to get the blood back into them. The giant stays within inches of her the whole time, watching like he's afraid she'll disappear if he blinks.

Nary looks up and up into his slanting black eyes. "Who _are_ you?" she asks. "How do I know you?"

"I'm Jake," he says.

"Jake who?"

"Black. Jacob Black."

"And how is it that you transform into a wolf? I've heard of shape-shifters but I didn't think there were any yet living."

"I'm Quileute," he says with a touch of pride. "Shape-shifting is sort of our thing."

"And what was it you called me earlier, an imprint?"

"Yeah," he says. "It's this thing that happens to my kind. It's…god, I don't even know how to explain it." Just talking to her, the hard set of his jaw is easing and he looks more relaxed. This is by far the weirdest thing that has ever happened to Nary. She is standing here on the frozen tundra conversing easily with a figment of her imagination who has turned out to be real, while he practically devours her with his eyes. She can't believe she trusts him, but she does. She can't help it.

She is about to ask him to try to explain imprints anyway when she hears a long howl coming from the west, where she left Demetri alone with his legs detached. The warm glow around her and Jake fizzles out and she remembers that she doesn't know a thing about him, other than what he's told her. Assuming he's telling the truth. But she knows he is.

The howl sounds again. She takes a step back and he takes one forward.

"I have to go," she says. "I have to get back to Demetri." Jake grimaces and he makes a visible effort to hide it.

"You don't have to, you know," he says. "We can keep you safe. You don't have to go back to him."

"What do you mean, 'keep me safe'?" she asks, laughing at the absurdity of it. "I'm in no danger from Demetri."

"You don't understand," he says urgently. "He's with the Volturi. He'll—"

"I know that," she says. "They're my coven."

This time Jake doesn't control it. His face goes from shock to horror to disgust to pity in no time. "They can't be," says Jake. "You can't trust them, they stole you from your family, they can't be trusted—"

"Or my judgment can't be trusted, apparently," she says, annoyed. "I'm happy with them! They've given me everything. I owe everything to them. I couldn't be more grateful for—"

"You owe them _nothing_," he spits. "They kidnapped you, ripped you from everyone who loved you, as far as I know they murdered your parents. You can't—"

"Oh, so now you know what's best for me?" she interrupts. "Don't you dare tell me what I can and cannot do." Her indignation has a curiously calming effect on Jake—either that or she just gave him another order. Whoopsie-daisy.

"I'm sorry," he says, breathing heavily. "I didn't mean it like that. Nessie, they—"

"My name," she says coldly, "is _Nereid_. And I have to get back to my husband before you people hurt him even more." Okay, there was no mistaking it: Jake looked really horrified when she referred to Demetri as her husband. Who the hell does he think he is? Demetri is one of the highest-ranking vampires in the world! Who is Jake but a vengeful police hound? How dare he judge her?

"He told us you were dead," he says weakly. He is shaking again, harder than before.

"I don't know why he did that," says Nary, taking a deep breath, "but I'm sure he had his reasons. Anyway, I love him. I'm not his prisoner, I'm his wife. I'm glad I met you, but I have to go."

Jake tries again. "Ness—Nereid," he says quietly. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I thought you were dead for fourteen years. I didn't think I could live without you and I didn't want to. I assumed I would find your killer someday, waste him, and then just…let myself die. But you're alive. This changes everything. I can't just watch you walk back to those evil sons of bitches and do nothing to save you from them. I can't do it. You're not safe with them. Please, _please_, just…stay with us. Stay with me."

Nary swipes one hand down her face, crosses her arms across her chest, looks down at the ground and then up at the sky. Why is she even still talking to this guy? Even deliberately looking away, her peripheral vision keeps seeking him out. And her body keeps leaning forward, too, like her senses want to be near him no matter what her brain says. This is ridiculous. He's a stranger. He may have featured in her dreams for years, but that wasn't _him_, it was her subconscious constructing a caricature from half-forgotten memories.

Except that the dream-Jacob's defining quality was joyful, unalloyed love. And as foreign and mysterious as this man is, there is no question that he adores her. He really even believes that he needs to keep her safe. And that could be bad. What if he were to follow her to Volterra? She could get in a lot of trouble. He obviously isn't one of the Children of the Moon, but who knows what the three ancients would make of him? Anyway, he knows about vampires. That alone puts him at risk, and she can't bear the thought of meeting the dreams-boy at last only to have him follow her to his own execution.

"You can't come after me," she says. "You would never be safe. If the Volturi even knew about you—"

"They do know about me," says Jake. "I told you, I tried to kill Demetri when he told us you were dead. Aro and Marcus both saw me phase and attack him. Secret's out."

"Well, perfect. So all they know of you is that you're dangerous and that you have a grudge against the coven. Can't you see that it would be suicide to come near the Volturi ever again? You're lucky they let you go the first time! You won't be so lucky again."

"I'll take my chances," he says, and he really does sound dangerous. For a second Nary almost believes he could do it—or at least, he would get pretty far, maybe take out a few of the Guard. Possibly some of her own friends! The finger of blame would land on him and, by association, her. Maybe even Demetri would be implicated. And Aro is not a particularly forgiving man. His justice would be swift and inexorable. It would be a disaster.

If Jake keeps his head down, this will all blow over and no one will be hurt. No one has to die.

"Jacob Black," says Nary, "_do not follow me_. That is an order. Go wherever you want, so long as you do not come looking for me." He said she can command him only if she really means it, didn't he? Well, she's never meant anything more. And Jake knows it: his face plummets and he looks at her miserably, his posture slumped and defeated.

"You don't know what you're asking," he says desperately. "You can't do this, you won't be safe, I have to keep you safe—"

"I'm not asking," she says gently but firmly, and her insides feel like his outsides look. "Do not search for me. Do not allow others to search for me in your place. It's the only way you'll be safe."

He looks like she's just handed him a death sentence. There is a third howl, and it is much closer. Nary steps forward and flings her arms one last time around Jake. His arms tighten around her and he turns his head so that his lips are crushed against her cheekbone. It is a brief and mournful kiss, and it burns her face like acid.

After less than a second of this she breaks away, pushes out of his arms and sprints back toward reality.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Leave me a review and let me know what you think/whether you want to just go ahead and kill me now 8_8**


	19. One Story Three Ways

Demetri has never felt terror like this. He knew the red wolf by sight and by smell; it is Jacob Black, the shape-shifter who attacked him in the Cullen dwelling. The creature was formidable enough then; now he is a nightmare. Demetri is by no means counted slow among vampires, but he hadn't a chance of outrunning the beast. He monitors the psychic strands of the wolf and of Nary, fearful with every passing second that Nary's will disappear as the wolf kills her; he recalls that it was a volatile, violent creature. Or, almost as bad, that the strands will float away together; perhaps the monster means to abduct her. His worries for his own safety come in only at a distant third.

She may need him, and he is no condition to help her now. He begins to drag himself, hand over hand, toward his detached leg and foot that lie far away. There is a sharp ache at the ends of both legs; he knows that this will explode into agony as soon as he can pay proper attention to it, and so he forcibly puts it out of his mind as he rounds up his limbs. Still watching the two strands, he holds his left shin under his knee and soon feels the bones and tendons knitting back together. It is a tenuous join, but it will grow stronger with time, until no damage is left but a scar. He does the same with his right foot, pressing it against his right ankle until it stays in place on its own. He won't be able to put weight on either limb for days, perhaps weeks. He may need to walk out of here on his hands.

As his foot is reattaching, he senses Nary's strand traveling back toward him while the wolf stays put, and his heart turns over. _Please let her be all right, he thinks, please let her be in one piece_. He can't think of anything else as he waits for her strand to reach him. There is a howling close by, a higher sound than the red wolf's, but he can't worry about that yet, he needs to see her and know she's safe.

And then she is cresting the nearest incline and sprinting toward him, and then she is there, hefting him onto her back and hurtling away from the pursuers.

"Are you all right?" he asks. "Did he hurt you?"

Unlike him, she needs to save her breath, and so instead of answering aloud she puts one hand over his and thinks, _I'm fine. I'll tell you everything as soon as we get away. Just hang on tight_. She is strong, easily strong enough to carry him, but she is also tired. He wishes fervently that he had never suggested this trip which was supposed to make things better, not worse. He tries to make himself a good passenger by keeping his weight off her shoulders and close to her center of gravity, but she is so much smaller than him, and vampires weigh a _lot_.

After a solid hour of running, she has slowed down noticeably, and Demetri begs her to stop. She skids to a halt and lowers him gently to the ground, and then doubles over, panting.

"Here," says Demetri, rummaging in his waterproof, fire-proof pack for a chilled thermos of blood. It is kept on hand for emergencies, emptied and refilled every time Nary hunts so that it remains fresh. It smells like the last horse she drank. But for once Demetri makes no comment as he unscrews the lid and hands the bottle over. Nary drinks thirstily, tilting her head back to get every last drop.

Finally, her breathing returns to normal and she sits on the ground beside Demetri. She takes his face in her hands and looks into his eyes. She smells like that awful shape-shifter, but Demetri is unspeakably relieved that he can't smell any wounds on her. At least the creature didn't draw blood.

"What happened?" he asks.

In answer, Nary's memories flood his mind. He watches as she chases down the wolf, and his heart sinks as she attacks it only to have it transform into a human. Then he sees and hears their conversation—Jacob seems to think Nary is imaginary for a while, and takes some convincing. Then they talk briefly about shape-shifters and some odd power that Nary seems to hold over the wolf, and then she orders him not to pursue her, and then the memory is done. It is a thousand times better than he could have hoped.

"I…I can't believe it," says Demetri.

Nary frowns. "Why not?"

"I can't believe he actually asked you to leave the coven. He can't have thought you would do it. How desperate must he be to make such a request, knowing it would certainly be refused?"

"I don't know," she says. "I don't know him at all. He's a complete mystery to me." She looks down at her hands. "Demetri," she says, looking into his eyes, and something in her tone makes him nervous. "He told me you said I was dead. That's why he wanted to kill you so badly. Why would you tell him that? How do you even know him?"

Demetri doesn't look away from her eyes. This is a delicate moment. Everything he's done for the last fourteen years has been at Aro's command, but Nary seems to have an uneasy relationship with the ancient at the moment, and Demetri would not want a loose tongue to damage their relationship any more.

"I thought you were dead," he says evenly. "I couldn't feel your strand, but I now think that must have been because I had never met you. I didn't find you until later." This is all he dares say. It is what Aro gave him to say, should this moment ever arise. Demetri hoped it never would.

"So why didn't you return me to my family as soon as you found me?" asks Nary, pursing her lips.

"My love, it is not given me to tell. You must ask Aro." Nary nods and looks down. Demetri fiddles with the seam at his ankle. Those bones are going to be harder to knit together than the tibia on his other leg. It will take a long time for things to heal, and they will never look the same again. There will always be a scar.

Demetri puts an arm around his wife and pulls her warm body close. And he knows that things will get much worse before they get better.

* * *

_I can't fucking believe you, Jacob Black!_ Leah is screaming in Jake's head and Jake has a headache and his adrenal gland is pretty much a broken dam at this point. _She's alive! You fucking—goddammit, you fucking—FUCK! Why did you stop me? I could have caught them!_

Jake can't handle any more of this. He unphases and sinks to the ground, and of course as soon as he does Leah unphases too and towers over him with barely a pause in her harangue.

"What's going on here?" asks Kate, skidding to a stop beside them. "What happened to the nomad? Did he seriously just get away?"

"Oh, he wasn't a nomad," snarls Leah, "He was one of them, he was Volturi, and he had _goddamned fucking Nessie with him!_ And Jake literally fought me off when I tried to go after them! _What the everloving fuck, Jake!_"

"_What?_" shouts Emmett, barreling to a stop with Rosalie on his tail. "What are you talking about?"

"She's alive," whispers Jake. "They've got her. She's alive."

"What do you mean?" screeches Rosalie. "Are you sure? We have to go, come on, we have to go after her! Are you sure? Oh my god, come _on!_"

"Don't bother," spits Leah. "I already tried. Jake almost bit my throat out. They're long gone by now."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" demands Kate. "Jesus, Jake, let's go!"

"She ordered me not to come after her," says Jake, barely audibly. "She ordered me not to let anyone else come after her either. I can't—I can't—" His head flops into his hands and he begins to sob. She was there, right there in arms' reach! Why did she issue him that command? How could she? When Jake heard Leah giving chase, he couldn't stop himself. The command took over and he was fighting Leah back before he even had a chance to think. Why would she give him an order like that? How could she? He's supposed to _protect_ her, for god's sake! This fucking imprint! God! Fucking! Damn it!

"I don't understand," says Garrett, frowning. "Renesmee's alive? And we aren't getting her back..._why_, exactly?"

"Because she's Jake's _imprint_," sneers Leah. "And a wolf can't ever disobey an order from an imprint, and she ordered him not to look for her, _and_ she ordered him not to let anyone else look for her. He just fucking attacked me as soon as I tried to go after them!"

"Screw that," says Emmett, baring his teeth. "You can't take us all on, wolfboy."

Jake looks up hopefully. "That's right," he says. "I can't beat you all! Shit, what are you waiting for?" Maybe all is not lost! Some of them can hold Jake back and the rest can track down Nessie and the leech!

Except it doesn't work, not even a little. As soon as the four vampires sprint away, Jake is phased and running after them. Leah gets her teeth on his tail and his leg kicks out and knocks her in the mouth. Even as he is mentally apologizing, he is getting his body between the vampires and Nessie. They spread out to go around him, and he only runs faster. Garrett and Kate tackle him and he wriggles out of their grasp. Fuck! Why does he have to be so fast? Jake has never hated himself more. His body is too strong and too fast for the others to subdue, and it doesn't matter that he keeps screaming at himself to just quit. The instinct to follow Nessie's order is too damn strong. There's nothing he can do.

That doesn't stop them all from trying, though. For days they follow Nessie, mile by slow mile, unbelievably hampered by Jake and his stupid fucking imprint-order. They track her to a small town. They track her to an airport.

And there the trail goes cold.

* * *

Nary waits outside the door to the reception hall at Volterra. Demetri has been in there for an hour already. Their plane touched down in Volterra's small airport only two hours ago. She hasn't had a chance to get a decent meal since before they left Russia, and even that was a slap-dash thing since she was uncomfortable leaving Demetri alone. She starts to twist a strand of hair around her finger but stops; she doesn't want to look scraggly when she appears before Aro, Caius and Marcus. Instead she smoothes the front of her silk dress and tries to breathe slowly.

"Enter," comes the command from within, and to Nary's surprise when she opens the door there is no one in the room but Demetri and Aro. It must not have been an important enough meeting to involve Caius and Marcus.

Nary curtseys low and approaches at Aro's signal. She is frankly terrified of what is sure to happen next. She didn't show Demetri the memory of Jake's burning farewell kiss. There was nothing romantic in it, not in the slightest. It was a goodbye, memorable only for its rigid finality, but now that she has hidden it once, it will look strange if it is revealed. What if Aro decides to tell her husband? All Nary wants is to brush everything under the rug, but things are only becoming more complicated.

But when she gives Aro her hand and feels her memories rushing over to him, the kiss never even surfaces. Aro releases her hand and doesn't give her a second glance. Nary is confused. The memories Aro just swiped…well, those were the exact same memories she modified for Demetri. Everything that happened with Jake, minus the goodbye.

Aro _didn't see the kiss_.

How is this possible? The only explanation Nary can come up with is that she has spent the last three days showing Demetri those memories on repeat, at his anxious request. Is it possible that her real memory is buried so far under the modified one that Aro didn't get at it? Oh, if he'd tried, if he had held her hand longer, he probably would have seen everything. But he didn't bother. He got what he wanted and then stopped looking.

The ramifications of this thought are too much for Nary right now and she pushes it out of her head. She can think about it later, when she is stewing over the meeting with Jake. As she does every night. And day. She slides her eyes over to Demetri and sighs a little. Of course both men hear her sigh and look at her. Demetri smiles encouragingly.

"Well, Nereid," says Aro at last. "You have a question for me."

Nary blushes and looks at her feet. She feels like a presumptuous upstart. But Aro is right. She is owed an explanation.

"Yes, milord," she says, curtseying again. "Demetri told me some of the tale of my discovery, but I would hear the rest, if…if you would be so kind."

"A just request," says Aro, nodding slightly. "I cannot tell you the particulars of your life before you came to us, but I will gladly set your mind at rest regarding our part in your rescue. Tell me first: how much of your own tale do you recall?"

"Oh," falters Nary. "I…hardly remember anything. I don't even really know what my parents looked like." She plumbs her memories, wishing that for once something would stand out, but nothing does. "I'm sorry, milord, I simply can't remember."

"You were young, and your forgetfulness is excused," says Aro magnanimously. "Allow me to enlighten you now. The first knowledge that we had of your existence was under most unpleasant circumstances. You well know that you are half-vampire and half human. Have you never wondered how so rare a combination came to be?"

Nary looks at her hands. She's been doing that a lot lately. "I wondered," she says. "But no one ever had an answer for me. I know that vampire women cannot bear children, so I can only assume that my mother was a human and my father a vampire. Beyond that I know nothing. I don't even know their names."

"I know few of the particulars," says Aro. "But I know something of your father—less, perhaps, of your mother, but in time you will know all that I know. Your father was a vampire named Edward, and I first met him fifteen years ago. He traveled to Volterra to make an unusual request."

Nary feels the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Jake mentioned an "Edward". He must have been talking about her father!

"You see," Aro continues, "It seems that Edward had formed a powerful attachment to a human girl named Bella. Fearful that his vampire strength would endanger her, he abandoned Bella shortly after their relationship began. However, as a vampire his love for her was eternal, and so when he was mistakenly informed she had died, he decided to end his own life rather than live without her. Rather than simply nick his flesh and hold it to a candle, or start a fight with a nomad, Edward decided to make his exit from this world in the most showy way possible. I can only imagine that he was driven insane by grief and these simpler methods did not occur to him. And so he appeared one day at our doorstep, begging audience. He stated his case, asked that we destroy him, and was summarily denied. After all, we are keepers of the peace. We hold the lives under our care in the highest respect. Thwarted, Edward decided to break a law, reveal himself to the humans who populate the town outside of Volterra Fulgida, and earn our punishment that way. Of course, we were aware of his intentions but hoped he would not go through with it. His plan was simply to stand in the sun at midday— on a festival day, no less, when all and sundry were decked out in carnival frippery! No human would have seen him and thought of vampires, and we stood at the ready to pull him out of sight should he attempt to create a scene. We would have sheltered him until his senses returned. However, before he could complete the act, the human Bella appeared like magic and they both came before me."

Nary can no longer control her face. She knows she must be broadcasting shock, horror and fascination; by the sympathetic glances Demetri is giving her, she probably looks a wreck. All she can think about is that both of her parents once stood in this very room, perhaps where she is standing now. There is so much to process.

"It transpired that Bella was not dead at all, that Edward's information had been faulty, and that everyone could go home as happy as a clam—once, that is, one little matter had been cleared up. Have you spotted it, child?"

"My mother," says Nary falteringly. "My father had already revealed himself to one human. He had already broken a law."

"Correct on the first try!" beams Aro. Somehow he looks more threatening when he smiles and Nary does not make eye contact. She just wants to know more about her parents. "We made clear that she could not remain a living human having learned of us. It was agreed that after she had taken time to arrange her affairs, she would be transformed. No one would be the wiser and everyone could go home happy. Naturally, we offered Edward and Bella sanctuary at Volterra, but they declined the invitation."

"Where did they live?" breaks in Nary, and then wants to slap herself for interrupting an ancient. But Aro answers graciously.

"They lived in a small town in the state of Washington. That is where they returned when we had concluded our business, and all that remained was for them to uphold their part of the bargain. You can imagine with what eagerness I awaited the word that they had done as asked. With every day that I received no news of Bella's transformation, I became more uneasy. But at length I was notified that they had married. I assumed that Bella was transformed before their nuptials, an assumption that proved untrue. Still, through our skilled tracker I intended to keep a fatherly eye on their movements, and to send help if necessary—as you know, newborns can sometimes be difficult to control. Several months after their wedding—it happened."

Nary is breathless, her hands clasped together as she waits anxiously to hear more. This is it. How did they die? Was it a fight? It must have been; vampires don't die by accident.

"Demetri searched one day for their strands and could not find them anywhere. This happens only when the one he seeks dies. It became instantly clear that some misfortune had befallen the pair. Demetri, Marcus and I journeyed to Washington to look for them ourselves; you see, since it was only at my urging that Bella was turned, I felt deeply responsible for her well-being. You cannot imagine my grief when we arrived and found no trace of them, not even ashes. They were simply…gone. Edward, a bright if sentimental young man, only a hundred years old! And his young bride, who I am convinced would have made a lovely vampire. But even this shock was nothing to what we _did_ discover."

He pauses and looks at Nary keenly. Her heart is pounding so loudly everyone can hear it. She's never fainted before but she wouldn't be surprised if she fainted now. Demetri puts an arm around her and she settles against his side, comforted by his familiar sleek form.

"Instead of the happy couple, we discovered a shape-shifter, a great red wolf who prowled the woods near the home of Bella and Edward. This aroused our suspicions, but we were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt; after all, shape-shifters do not fall under our purview."

Okay, now Nary is about to faint. Jake, he's talking about Jake, what new nightmarish twist is this tale going to take?

"The wolf-man approached us and asked us for news of a child. An infant, only a few days old, the offspring of Bella and Edward. Having no reason to distrust him, Demetri searched the strands in his mind and found nothing. The shape-shifter was furious at our answer and attacked Demetri, to no success. And we went on our way, leaving the shape-shifter behind. But the incident preyed on my mind. Why did the shape-shifter so yearn to find you? He had claimed friendship as his only motivation, but as time passed I doubted his tale. He was obviously a violent individual. I looked into the subject and found to my great dismay that the shape-shifter belonged to a tribe that had long prided itself in hunting down and murdering our kind. Why I do not know; but it struck me as too much for coincidence that in the same week that Bella and Edward were murdered, a vampire-hating shape-shifter sought their half-vampire child. What could I do then but suspect the wolf? He had transgressed against our people and his punishment would be swift.

"But before Demetri could get close again," Aro continues, looking down at Nary, "he discovered an infant in a boat at sea—of course, the infant was you, Nereid of the Volturi. Upon seeing you, child, all thoughts of justice and vengeance were displaced. The shape-shifter was abandoned, and Demetri brought you to his native home, where with the blessing of the ancients he oversaw your care. And the rest you remember."

This is wrong, this is wrong. Nary's head is swimming. Jake couldn't have wanted to hurt her. She doesn't even know him, but he would never, ever hurt her. He couldn't! He's too good!

_Why do you think that?_ Her mind asks her very reasonably. _You don't even know him. And he wanted to hurt Demetri. You already know he's violent. He even wanted to attack you, you saw it in his eyes when he turned on you. He would have killed you then and there._

_But he didn't, did he?_ she answers her brain. _He could have killed me easily enough. He didn't even try, not after he looked me in the eyes. Besides, he gave me the sea-glass. That must mean something._

_Boo hoo_, retorts her subconscious. _So a strange man gave you a piece of trash when you were a baby. That means he's suddenly your best friend?_

Oh, what Nary wouldn't give for five more minutes alone with Jake. She is sure Aro is making a mistake. Jake may be dirty and coarse and violent, but he isn't evil. Maybe he was looking for her after her parents died, but not to harm her. Certainly not.

"Now, child, does this tale satiate your curiosity?" Aro watches Nary through clouded red eyes. Nary has more questions now than ever. She is desperate to know more of her parents. What were they like, besides dramatic and suicidal? Did her mother have any family? Did her father have any vampire friends? Who sired him in the first place, and why?

But the biggest mystery by far is Jake. Who is he, really? Does his tribe truly exist only to hunt vampires? How did he know her parents? Oh, she was right to order him to stay away, it is plain as day that he would be as welcome in Volterra as unclean blood.

Nary doesn't know much, but she knows one thing: Jake did not kill her parents. She will never be able to explain her certainty of this fact to Aro, and so she doesn't try.

"Yes, milord," she says meekly. "Thank you for telling me."

Aro smiles coldly down at her as Demetri's arm tightens around her shoulders. Nary has never been so alone.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	20. An End and a Beginning

Demetri feels a prickling at the back of his skull, a non-specific buzz that demands attention. It is the strand of Carlisle Cullen, and it is moving. It has been moving for some time, almost a full day already. It is very close now.

He is terrified.

Of course, he told Aro as soon as he felt Carlisle (and Esme, the wife) moving rapidly along what was obviously an air-route toward Italy. He can't always pinpoint exactly where on the globe a strand is headed—that depends on too many variable factors—but in Carlisle's case it was easy enough to guess. Demetri has been expecting this ever since he and Nary returned to Volterra. The shape-shifter has clearly informed Carlisle that Nary is alive. Demetri isn't worried that Carlisle will take Nary away by force; the doctor isn't really that kind of person, and the Olympic coven hardly has the firepower to take on all of Volterra. No, the two gentlest Cullens are coming here, obviously as emissaries of some kind. Aro will know what to say. He always does.

But Demetri is not ready for this confrontation.

"You're sure you don't mind?" Nary asks for a third time as she finishes her hair before the antique vanity. Nary and Akashi have planned a visit to the _Museo della Moda di Volterra_, which houses a priceless collection of historical fashion from the crown and kalasiris of Nefertiti to Dior's original, iconic Bar Suit. It should keep Nary occupied for some time; she won't even see a fiftieth of what the Museo has to offer, and she and Akashi will probably get lost in the Kimono Wing for several hours at least.

With a bit of luck, and if she leaves _very soon_, Nary will be gone by the time Carlisle and Esme get here.

"Go, go," says Demetri, gently pushing his wife out the door. "I have meetings all day, but I want to hear all about it when you return."

Nary kisses him one last time and departs with Akashi. Demetri stands still in the middle of his and Nary's bedroom, breathing in the echoes of her scent.

Before long, there is a knock at the door.

"Aro wants you," says Felix. "Its about—"

"Carlisle is here," says Demetri.

"Right," says Felix. "Awkward, huh?" They walk toward the reception hall in silence, and then Felix turns suddenly to Demetri. "It'll be fine," he says. "You'll see. It was all done for the best. Aro will handle everything."

"I am well aware," says Demetri stiffly. Felix pats him once, roughly, on the shoulder, and then Demetri enters the reception hall alone.

"_Stregone benefico!_" Demetri greets Carlisle, shaking him warmly by the hand. "What a pleasure it is to see you again."

"I wish I could say the same, Demetri," says Carlisle gravely. "You both remember my wife, Esme."

Demetri smiles and bows to Esme, who does not smile back.

"Well, Carlisle," says Aro briskly, "Why do you not tell us why you have come?"

"We are here for our granddaughter," says Carlisle. "Fourteen years ago you told us she was dead. This was a lie. Do not pretend to deny it. She lives, and she lives here."

"She does live here," says Aro, for all the world like a teacher pleased with his precocious student. "But we have never lied to you."

"You told us—" begins Esme, but Aro cuts her off.

"We told you we could not find her, and that this could only mean she was dead. If only we had more experience with her kind, we would have seen at once that she was not dead at all. We have since learned the error of our ways."

"But you should have brought her to us the moment you found her!" exclaims Carlisle. "How can you possibly justify this abduction? We are her family, and you are no more than kidnappers. It is time for you to right this wrong: return her to her family at once."

"I am truly sorry you see it in that light," says Aro. "Perhaps you will allow me to address your concerns?" Carlisle nods stiffly. "When we spoke to you in Forks we were convinced the infant had died, and went away in saddened but resigned spirits. I will confess that I had much to think on after that meeting. More than anything my curiosity was roused by the violent and inexcusable attack of your _dear friend_ the shapeshifter."

Carlisle and Esme both look horrified. "But he was only—" she begins.

"I looked into it further over the next few weeks," says Aro without a pause to acknowledge Esme has spoken. "I soon discovered that the shape-shifter derived his power from a tribe whose sole purpose in life is to hunt and destroy our kind. To think that you had willingly entered into an alliance with such creatures! My estimation of you fell fast, old friend. I began to wonder if you were at last beginning to succumb to your craven lifestyle. In my heart of hearts, I wondered if it were not best that the infant had died before she was exposed to your treacherous acquaintance. The creature proved to me on that day that the Quileute tribe of shape-shifters is anathema to vampires, and that your decision to associate with them could do nothing but cast doubt on your very capability as a member of our great civilization. Already, knowing your family's curious predilection for haunting teenage humans, I suspected that you were tottering from your pedestal. Our last encounter only proved it."

"Aro," says Carlisle, "you misunderstand entirely. Jacob Black is not ordinarily a violent individual; he was in mourning for Renesmee—"

"Not violent?" sneers Aro. "And the rumours I have heard of the nomads Laurent and Victoria—are these untrue?"

Carlisle bows his head. "There is more to that story," he says pleadingly. "Anyway, we are not here to discuss the wolves. We are here for our granddaughter."

"Indeed," says Aro. "When we did stumble across her, weeks later, we did not at first believe she could be the same infant. The child we found floating at sea was well past the age you had described. Of course, we did eventually realize who she was, but by then she had formed a close attachment to the one who found her—Demetri."

"Is this true?" asks Carlisle incredulously. "You found her and did nothing?" Demetri meets the doctor's eyes only with an effort.

"Did nothing?" repeats Aro coldly. "No indeed. Why do you not tell the doctor what you did when you found her, Demetri?"

"I...I warmed her," says Demetri haltingly. "She was half-frozen. I fashioned swaddlings for her from my shirt. When we reached land I bought her clean clothes and supplies. I fed her and sang her to sleep when she tired. When she woke, we played games. Clapping games. Things like that." Demetri know he sounds like a blithering idiot right now, but he can't help it: he is reliving the day he found Nary and the week that followed, each new day the happiest day of his life. And it has only ever gotten better.

But he has never deserved her.

"Witness our wickedness," says Aro mockingly. "Cruel, cruel Demetri, to find an abandoned baby and to give her succour. I suppose you are right as usual, Doctor. Perhaps Demetri should have done as you have always done, and turned a blind eye to what he could not understand. No matter: you can reprimand him now."

Uncomfortably Carlisle looks Demetri in the eye. "I thank you," he says quietly, "for saving her life. I did not realize the part you played."

"Anyone would have done the same," says Demetri uncomfortably.

"Still," says Carlisle resolutely, "having seen to her needs she should have been returned to her family. We were broken-hearted, thinking her dead."

"And now she is alive," says Aro. "Cheer up, Doctor. Know that she is happy here with us and be content."

"She should be happy with _us!_" Carlisle bursts out. "She is _ours_, she was never yours to keep!"

"Careful, Doctor," says Demetri warningly. "Nary belongs to no one but herself." Is it not that very self-possession that so captivates and torments him?

"You know full well what I—"

"Demetri kept her from you on _my_ orders," interrupts Aro. "When at last we realized who the child was, Demetri was willing, against the earnest wishes of his own heart, to return the child to you. But I thought better of it. If even one of her parents had been living, there would have been no question. But you, Carlisle, _you_. You who have betrayed our kind in so many ways, great and small. You who have entered into an alliance with the dirt of the earth, with those who would kill us as soon as look at us, who would have killed the child in a trice. Can you think me so morally bankrupt as to entrust an innocent child to your care, of all people? Am I so devoid of feeling that I would hand that beloved infant back to those who could not or would not protect her and her parents from harm? No, Carlisle, let me be plain: I would no more have returned Nereid to you than I would have turned her over to the shape-shifters themselves. You have endangered us all by your unholy alliance. Do not think to stand before me and lecture in that supercilious way. You are on thin ice enough."

"It is not as you say!" cries Esme. "We would have died to keep her safe!"

"How noble," says Aro scathingly. "Pray, how would your death have benefitted her? Her parents' deaths certainly did her no favors. We, on the other hand, managed to provide for her without resorting to pointless self-sacrifice. She has been raised as a princess. She is truly one of our own."

Esme covers her face with her hands. Carlisle puts his arm around her and they both slump, defeat written in the set of their shoulders.

"For the respect I once bore you," says Aro, "I will permit you to leave here without repercussions for your presumption and your shameful alliance with the shape-shifters. Do not make me regret this decision, and take this advice: reflect on your _own_ choices before you judge me for mine."

With that he is done. Aro glides from the room, and Carlisle and Esme are left alone with Demetri. Carlisle casts one last mournful glance at his erstwhile friend and then hurries away with his wife. Demetri hesitates for a second, and then runs after them.

"Stregone!" he calls. "Please accept an offer of transportation. It is the least we can do."

"Yes," agrees Carlisle angrily. "It is the _very_ least you can do."

"That was hard of Aro," agrees Demetri. "But you must understand that Nereid has become a cherished member of this coven. She is the treasure of the Volturi. You must forgive Aro's...protectiveness."

"We would have protected her," quavers Esme. "We would have done anything for her. She was...she was..."

"If anyone on Earth can understand your feelings," says Demetri emphatically, "I do. Truly. I had not known her five minutes before I resolved to keep her safe even at risk to my own life."

"How could you do this to us, Demetri?" asks Carlisle. "How could you do this to me? I admired you greatly when I knew you before. I thought you not only a man of action but a man of honor, of superior scruples. Yet you have done this."

"Is it so long since you lived here that you have forgotten our ways?" asks Demetri. "It is not given me to disobey my master. I have not always liked his orders, but I have always followed them."

"You wished to keep her," accuses Carlisle. "You were _glad_ to keep her."

"I do not deny it," admits Demetri. "Who could have seen her and not wanted to keep her? But you should remember this also: Aro is not in the habit of consulting my wishes. And even if he were, I would not have ventured to make a judgment about the disposition of the child. I have not the gift of infallibility and would not claim otherwise."

"Nor would I," mutters Carlisle. "I apologise, old friend. The hurt of losing her has not eased. It is not you I blame. I well recall the way things are run here. And I owe you a debt of gratitude, for saving her life."

"Do not despair," says Demetri. "Eternity is long; do you not think Aro will soften, in time? If you can but contain your anger, prove to Aro by your conduct—"

"We will not speak of it," interrupts Carlisle shortly. "It can do no good." They stand at the edge of the tarmac, sparkling in the midday Tuscan sun and eyeing the planes. There are dozens of private jets large and small, and many more employed around the world. One of them will soon take Carlisle and Esme away from the long-lost granddaughter who does not even know they exist. Demetri feels keenly how very weak he is. He is not strong enough to right this wrong.

"Is there aught I can say or do to ease your pain?"

"Give us Renesmee back." Demetri gives Carlisle a look, and nothing more. Carlisle sighs. "Can we not meet her, even for a moment?"

"She is from home," says Demetri apologetically, "and not expected soon. I am sorry, but that request is not in my power to grant."

"Will you at least tell her of us?"

Demetri shifts uncomfortably, knowing that he is treading into dangerous waters. "If I can," he says at last.

"Is she happy?" asks Esme, her luminous eyes wide.

"Rapturously so. Her smile is a light that never goes out; her laughter would power cities." Although she seems to be going through a rough patch, ever since Russia.

"Jacob told us," says Carlisle, his brow furrowed, "that she called you her husband, Demetri. But this can not be so. He must have misheard her."

"It is so," affirms Demetri. Esme gasps and Carlisle looks angry again.

"But she is a child, practically still an infant!" he half-shouts. "While you, _you_ are an ancient! What can you have been _thinking?_" This accusation does not have the desired effect, since to Demetri practically everyone is a child. Hell, to him even Carlisle is a frothy-mouthed teenager throwing a tantrum.

"She reached adulthood seven years ago," he says, unruffled, "and was treated with all due chivalry both before and after. She was not obligated to accept my suit. I would willingly have gone on adoring her from a distance, had that been her wish. She made clear, however, that her wants and mine were perfectly aligned." He thinks it's a little rich for Carlisle to upbraid him for his choice of mate; at least Demetri didn't sire her and _then_ marry her. He keeps this thought to himself.

"So we must go," says Carlisle unhappily, looking back at the rows of planes, each parked in its place with a surgeon's precision. "We are not even to see her."

"Do not give up hope," urges Demetri, but Carlisle cuts him off once more.

"Don't tell me my business," he says sharply, raking one hand through his golden hair and leaving it standing on end like a halo. Then, imploringly, "What is she like?"

Demetri smiles, the first time his smile had been real all day. "She is without equal," he says softly. "She is intelligent, creative, deeply empathic. Her desire to know all there is to learn about the world is matched only by her desire to contribute to its goodness. She is the love of my life." Carlisle's face softens at this. He looks at Demetri, and then looks at his feet.

"I would not have us part enemies," says Carlisle at last. He holds out his hand.

"No more shall we." Demetri ignores the proffered hand and instead embraces the doctor, then his wife. He watches them board the plane, which is already manned with a pilot. He watches the plane disappear into the eye-aching blue. Then he returns to his suite and sits on the bed until Nary has returned from her outing.

"Do anything good today?" she asks him carelessly while she brushes the dust from her hat.

"No," he answers heavily. "Nothing good."

* * *

"Jake?"

"Hi, Dad."

It is two weeks since he found Nessie, and the search party has disbanded. The Cullens wouldn't even look at him toward the end. They are back up in Denali now, along with Kate and Garrett. Leah is beginning to understand just exactly how fucked-up things are for Jake. After yelling at him for three solid days, she suddenly took his side, telling off the others when they started in on him. Well, she was on the shit end of the whole Sam/Emily saga; maybe she understands better than most what an imprint can really do.

And now he's home. He doesn't know where else to go. There's gotta be a way around this imprint-order, but he doesn't know what it is. Maybe Sam or Paul will have answers for him.

"I sure as shit didn't expect to see you any time soon," says Billy. "Come give me a hug, will ya?"

Jake bends down and mechanically hugs his father. Maybe the Cullens'll be able to think of something. They're probably making plans right now. Hell, if he doesn't _know_ about a search-and-rescue, he can't very well get in the way of it, can he? Maybe the leeches will be able to get her back!

"I just got off a pretty weird phone call, son," says Billy. Jake is only half-listening. "Some girl named Mary just called." Jake doesn't know anyone named Mary. And who cares, anyway? Unless Mary has information on how to get Nessie back…

"She wanted to know how to get in touch with you," says Billy. "She was pretty damn insistent, matter of fact. I wasn't about to give out your cell number to a stranger, but I told her she could send you letters here if she wanted to."

"Great," says Jake, already turning to go. "Sounds good. I have to go find Paul, there's something I—"

"She asked about Bella and Edward, son."

Jake nearly snaps his neck turning back to his father.

"What?" he barks.

"She wanted to know if I knew Edward or Bella. I told her I'd be perfectly willing to have a nice chat about them if she would tell me how she knew you, and she hung up. Now, who do you know named Mary?"

"Not Mary," says Jake breathlessly. "_Nary_. With an _N_. When did she call, Dad? Did you get her number?"

"Nope," says Billy. "I told you, she hung up on me. Who the hell is Nary?"

"Nessie," says Jake, scraping his fingers through his short hair. "Nary is Nessie, Dad, she's alive. We found her."

"What? She's alive?" Billy half-rises out of his wheelchair, shaking in surprise. "Well, where the hell is she, son? Why ain't she with you?"

"She ordered me not to come after her," moans Jake. "She ordered me not to let anyone else come after her. She got away. Oh god, she got away…"

"She _ordered_ you—_ohh_," says Billy. "Shit."

"I have to find Paul," says Jake. "Or Sam. Anyone. There's gotta be a way around an order. No way does Paul do everything Rach tells him to do. I have to find a way around it!"

"Paul's at work," says Billy, "but I know Quil is probably pickin' up Claire from school right about now."

"I'll see you later, Dad!" shouts Jake over his shoulder.

* * *

"It can be done," says Paul, four days later. Paul, Jake and Rachel are sitting around their kitchen table while Joseph pretends Jake's shin is a pony, or a bus or possibly a boat. "I mean, we got around it. But it takes forever, it takes practice."

"That's what Quil said, too," says Jake. Perfect. He has all the time in the world, but it's pretty hard to practice ignoring orders from your imprint when your imprint is halfway around the globe.

"How are you holding up, Jake?" Rachel asks him.

"Fine."

"Well, how did she look?"

"Oh lord, she's perfect," says Jake morosely. "She's incredible. I just wish she didn't have to fuh—" He looks at Joseph, who is grinning up at him from his perch aboard the SS Jake's Left Leg. "—_freaking_ order me not to look for her," he finishes lamely.

"There's got to be a way around this," says Paul. "Maybe as time passes the order will get weaker…?"

"No way," says Rachel, "Remember the thing with the—"

"Oh, right," says Paul quickly, avoiding Jake's eyes. "Never mind. That doesn't actually work."

"Well," sighs Jake, "thanks for trying, anyway. I'll think of something."

"Not on an empty stomach, you won't," says Paul. "Stay for dinner, will ya?"

"Uncle Jake!" shouts Joseph, clapping his hands ecstatically. "Stay for dinner!"

"Yeah, okay," says Jake. Joseph is so thrilled at the idea that he runs off to fetch a drawing he made. "See?" he says, shoving it right up in Jake's face until he goes cross-eyed. Jake leans back and squints.

"Hey, cool octopus!" he exclaims, ruffling Joseph's hair. But Joseph gives him a disgruntled scowl and snatches the crayon drawing back.

"It's a _woof_," he says imperiously, shaking the page. "See? I drew a _were-woof_."

"Ohh," says Jake, looking more closely. Yeah, those hairy orange tentacles could conceivably be legs. And it does have very sharp teeth. Scrawled across the top are a bunch of figures that just might spell out a word. "What's that say?" he asks his nephew, who is only too glad to explain.

"I wrote your name on it!" he beams. Oh, there it is. _Umcl Jak_. Joseph's spelling is even more abstract than his drawing.

"Hey, that's pretty good," he exclaims. "Way to go, Jokester!" Joseph beams and flings himself in Jake's arms, and before he knows it Jake is laughing, _really_ laughing, great shaking belly-laughs that burst like bubbles on the air. And Joseph is giggling like a maniac, and Paul is looking relieved, and Rachel is staring at her baby brother like he's just sprouted furry orange tentacles, because she hasn't heard his laugh in sixteen years.

* * *

Jake drags his ass out of bed and into the shower. It kills him that Nessie is with those Volturi monsters, and it kills him that he may very well never see her again, but still—she's alive. Compared to how he felt when he thought she was dead, there are bluebirds of happiness tweetling on every corner and daisies growing in his heart. For the first time in what seems forever, the sensation of hot water hitting his skin feels good. When he goes downstairs, his stomach is rumbling audibly. He helps himself to every last scrap of meat in the house and actually enjoys eating it, although frankly those three pounds of pork loin are barely enough even to power his chewing. He's going to need to figure out the food situation, that's for sure. With no vampires around to give him their leftover carcasses, and the game on the rez about two deer from total depletion, eating is going to become expensive fast. Especially since his metabolism is three times what it was when he was a teenage wolf.

"Jake, I do believe you're chowing down on our dinner," says Billy. "I guess we'll have to figure something else out, huh?"

"Yup," says Jake. "_Is_ there anything else?"

"You've eaten everything else," his father says drily.

"Oh," says Jake. "I guess I should go grocery shopping then, huh? As soon as I get my feet under me I'll get out of your hair, Dad. Promise."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," says Billy. "But since you're offering to go shopping, I thought maybe we'd have Charlie and Sue over for dinner. Whyn't you pick up some chicken and steak, and we'll make us up some tacos? You'll need to get tortillas, too, you ate all those yesterday. Oh, and we'll need beans…rice…avocados…salsa…_why_ you drank an entire jar of salsa I'll never know."

"I was hungry," says Jake sheepishly. "I'm still hungry." His stomach growls extra-loud, for emphasis. When he was out leech-hunting, he went through two or three large mammals per week. Right now, after only three pounds of meat, a loaf of bread and four apples, he feels like he hasn't eaten at all. "I think I need more meat," he admits. "All those carbs just go right through me."

"Werewolves," mutters Billy, shaking his head. But he's smiling. There's a rattle at the front door. "Hey, whyn't you go get the mail while I try to squeeze a breakfast out of a can of condensed milk and three packets of ketchup."

Jake gets up and heads down the hallway to the front door. He doesn't fit in this house anymore, not even a little. He really should see about getting his own place or something. He needs to be able to plan. He needs to figure out how to get Nessie away from the Volturi. He needs to keep in shape so that if and when it comes to blows, he can kick the shit out of whatever little leeches try to get in his way.

He flips absentmindedly through the mail as he brings it to the kitchen. "Bills, junk, bills," he says, tossing the stack on the table. Halfway through the pile, a heavy cream-colored envelope catches his eye. It is hand-written in an even, old-fashioned script, with no return. It is addressed to _Jacob Black, c/o Billy Black_.

Jake almost rips his thumb off in his hurry to get the envelope open. There is a single sheet of expensive-looking paper inside, covered with the same loopy cursive as on the envelope.

_Dear Jake, _the letter says_._

_I shouldn't be doing this. I know I ordered you not to come after me, and…well, I know for sure now that was the right thing to do. They really hate you around here. They tell me I should hate you. They say you killed my mom and dad. And you wanted to kill me too._

_I have no memory of it. All I have is their word. They say you're a murderer. And I know you would have murdered my husband if I'd let you._

_But the thing is, they keep trying to convince me that you're the bad guy, and it will never work. I don't know who you are. I don't really believe there is a bad guy, but if there is you're not him. I'm sure they've made a mistake. That's understandable. You've tried to kill Demetri twice now. But that was probably all a misunderstanding. Or something._

_Anyway, I'm sure if you only knew him you wouldn't keep trying to kill him._

_I don't know what to think anymore. Please, please throw this letter away. If I go really mad and send you any more, throw them away too. Don't even open them. I think I may be insane. I believe I know you—I believe you are a dear and cherished friend—and for what? Because I've dreamed of you ever since I can remember? That's what insane people do. They believe their dreams are real._

_I looked you up, you know. Well, not you, but I looked up your tribe and your surname. (I will admit that the spelling took me several tries—for your tribe, not your surname.) That's how I found your father's phone number and address. I think I may have upset him. He was very protective of you. I can understand that easily enough. If he is still angry at me, please tell him I'm sorry and that I meant no harm. I just wanted to know how to find you._

_I shouldn't send this, but I know I will. I just can't bear to think that the last thing I'm ever to say to you is a high-handed command to leave me alone. You're my favorite dream, Jake. You deserve better than that._

_Sincerely,_

_Nary_

Jake reads the letter, and then he reads it again. Then a third time. He can just imagine her inflection.

"Hey, Dad?" he says, eyes still glued to the page in his hands.

"Yeah, Jake?"

"I changed my mind," says Jake. "I don't think I should move out just yet."

"Now you're talkin' sense," says Billy, going off into some speech about something that Jake isn't even remotely listening to.

Jake will stay right here.

She could write again.

* * *

**So sorry to be a day late, I have family in from out of town and it was very important that we drink heavily and eat mussels till late into the night. So I decided to cram the final two chapters together for you this week, as penance. **

**Annnd...that's the end of this story. Follow me for New Story updates or check my page for the sequel to _Gone_, which is titled _Best Laid Plans_ and will be going up Friday. Thanks for all your reviews. Let me know what you think!**


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